THREE  WEEKS 

^HOLLAND 
^BELGIUM 


s 


in  Holland  and  Belgium 


Three  Weeks  in  Europe 

By 

John  U.  Higinbotham 

Invaluable  to  those  about  to  make  a  first 
trip  to  Europe.  Full  of  just  the  necessary 
information  and  pertinent  suggestions — all 
presented  in  the  form  of  a  snappy,  readable 
narrative.  Those  who  cannot  take  a  trip 
abroad  will  find  ' '  Three  Weeks  in  Europe ' ' 
a  delightful  substitute. 

12mo.  (Uniform  with  this  volume.)  Deco- 
rative cover ;  50  full-page  balf-tone  pictures. 
Price  $1.50. 


WELCOME  TO  HOLLAND 


THREE  WEEKS 


IN 


HOLLAND 


AND 


BELGIUM 


BY 

JOHN  U.  HIGINBOTHAM 


CHICAGO 

THE  REILLY  &  BRITTON   CO. 
PUBLISHERS 


FIRST  EDITION, 
SECOND  EDITION, 
THIRD  EDITION, 


AUGUST,  1908 

SEPTEMBER,  1909 

AUGUST,  1910 


COPYRIGHT,  1908, 
];Y 

THE  REILLY  &  BRITTON  Co. 


Three  Weeks  in  Holland  and  Belgium 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  ROTTERDAM          .....       9 

It.  DELFT 22 

III.  THE  HAGUE  AND  SCHEVENIXGEN  .         .     31 

IV.  LEIDEX  ......          43 

V.  HAARLEM    .          .          .          .          .          .54 

VI.  AMSTERDAM    .....          58 

VII.  A  ZUIDER  ZEE  EXCURSION    .          .          .72 

VIII.  ZAANDAM  AND  ZAANDYK  ...          83 

IX.  HELDER 88 

X  ALKMAAR        .....          94 

XT.  HOORN  AND  ENKHUIZEN       .         .         .   100 

XII.  IN   FRIESLAND         .          .          .          .107 

XIII.  GRONINGEN  AND  ASSEN         .         .         .113 

XIV.  ZWOLLE   AND   KAMPEN        .  .  .121 

XV.  UTRECHT  AND  ARNHEM        .         .         .   127 

XVI.  FAREWELL  TO  HOLLAND  .         .         .        136 

XVII.  LIEGE 143 

XVIII.  THE  MEUSE  VALLEY        .         .         .        153 

XIX.  THE  GROTTO  OF  HAN          '  .          .          .159 

XX.  DlXANT   AND   A    GLIMPSE   OF    FRANCE  164 

XXI.  CHARLEROI  AND  Moxs  .         .         .168 

XXII.  BRUSSELS        „          .          .  .        174 

XXIII.  WATERLOO 183 

XXIV.  BRUSSELS  AGAIX      .         .         .         .        191 
XXV.  TOURXAI  AXD  LILLE    ....   203 

XXVI.  C'OURTRAI   AXD    OSTEXD       .  .  .210 

XXVTI.  BRUGES 217 

XX  VIII.  GHENT 224 

XXTX.  ANTWERP 230 

XXX.  THE  ISLAND  OF  WALCHEREN    .         .        240 

XXXI.  FROM  MIDDELBURG  TO  ROTTERDAM         .  251 

XXXTT.  LITTLE  JOURNEYS  AROUND  ROTTERDAM     258 


2205079 


PREFACE 

It  would  be  remarkable  had  not  the  mild 
success  of  my  first  book  imbued  me  with  the 
idea  that  I  have  a  "mission." 

Briefly  stated,  that  mission  is  to  act  as 
spokesman  for  the  humble  and  despised  class 
grouped  in  travel  books  under  the  name  of 
"tourists/'  Tourists  are  condemned  by  the 
universal  law  of  human  nature  which  judges 
all  grades  of  society  by  the  noisy  minority.  To 
the  great  majority  of  tourists  a  trip  abroad 
is  the  fruit  plucked  from  a  tree  of  slow 
growth,  the  roots  of  which  are  sunk  deep  in 
the  soil  of  hard  work  and  self-denial,  and 
whose  blossoming  branches  represent  years  of 
studious  preparation  intelligently  to  appreciate 
the  present  beauty  or  past  grandeur  of  the 
things  spread  before  them  in  foreign  lands. 
They  do  not  talk  in  strident  tones.  They  give 
just  compensation  for  services  rendered  and  pay 
due  homage  to  genuine  greatness,  whether  liv- 
ing or  dead.  They  glide  quietly  in  and  out 
with  wide  open  eyes  and  minds,  seeing,  en- 


Preface 

joying  and  understanding.  They  bring  home 
to  family,  friends  or  pupils,  all  of  the  reflected 
radiance  of  a  trip  abroad  that  can  possibly  be 
transmitted. 

They  return  to  their  firesides  better  Ameri- 
cans than  ever,  ready  to  adopt  some  of  the 
superficial  elegancies  of  the  Continent,  perhaps, 
but  convinced  that  beneath  the  surface  there  is 
no  country  on  the  globe  that  can  compare  with 
the  United  States  in  universal  opportunity  for 
the  accomplishment  of  every  right  ambition 
and  equitable  and  assured  reward  for  every 
right  effort. 

In  once  more  trying  to  outline  what  was 
actually  done  by  an  ordinary  observer  at 
moderate  expense,  I  sincerely  trust  that  this 
book  will  furnish  to  its  readers  the  one  thing 
needful  in  many  cases  to  make  them  globe- 
trotters, viz.,  a  little  courage. 

JOHN  U.  HIGINBOTHAM. 

Chicago,  March,  1908. 


ITINERARY 


July  21.  Arrived  at  Rotterdam  3  A.M. 

"  21.  Left  Rotterdam  2:04  P.M. 

"  21.  Arrived  at  The  Hague  2:34  P.M. 

"  21.  Left  The  Hague  3:00  P.M. 

".  21.  Arrived  at  Delft  3:12  P.M. 

"  21.  Left  Delft  5:45  P.M. 

"  21.  Arrived  The  Hague  5:57  P.M. 

' '  22.  In  The  Hague  and  Scheveningeu. 

"  23.  Left  The  Hague  12:06  P.M. 

"  23.  Arrived  Leiden  12:24  P.M. 

"  23.  Left  Leiden  3  P.M. 

"  23.  Arrived  Haarlem  3:33  P.M. 

"  23.  Left  Haarlem  5:48  P.M. 

"  23.  Arrived  Amsterdam  6:10  P.M. 

"  24.  In  Amsterdam. 

"  25.  Zuider  Zee  Excursion. 

"  26.  Left  Amsterdam  7:50  A.M. 

"  26.  Arrived  Zaandam  8:02  A.M. 

"  26.  Left  Zaandam  10:01  A.M. 

"  26.  Arrived  Helder  11:20  A.M. 

"  26.  Left  Helder  4  P.M. 

"  26.  Arrived  Alkmaar  5:02  P.M. 

"  27.  Left  Alkmaar  8:25  A.M. 

"  -27.  Arrived  Hoorn  8:45  A.M. 

"  27.  Left  Hoorn  9:56  A.M. 

"  27.  Arrived   Enkhuisen  10:25  A.M. 

"  27.  Boat  to  Stavoren  1:39  P.M. 

"  27.  Arrived  Stavoren  2:49  P.M. 

"  27.  Left  Stavoren  2:57  P.M. 

"  27.  Arrived  Sneek  3:24  P.M. 


Three    Weeks    in 
Holland  and  Belgium 


FTER  ten  days  of  ocean  as  flat  as  a 
travel-book,  attended  by  weather  not 
nearly  so  dry,  we  are  warned  that  the 
customs  officers  will  invade  our  staterooms  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  early  hour 
proved  to  be  the  only  disagreeable  feature  of 
the  ordeal,  as  nothing  was  disturbed  and  our 
luggage  was  chalk-marked  without  even  the 
formality  of  opening  it.  The  crafty  Holland- 
ers knew  that  there  would  be  pleasanter  ways 
of  obtaining  our  money  after  we  landed  and 
that  we  could  be  safely  entrusted  to  their 
brethren  on  shore  for  the  solution  of  our 
surplus  problem. 

Being  assured  that  the  customs  regulations 
have  all  been  complied  with,  our  passengers 
scramble  sleepily  on  deck  and  view  the  canal- 
ized Maas  up  which  we  'are  slowly  passing. 
Trees  of  uniform  height  and  symmetrical 
9 


io  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

shape  line  both  banks.  Buoys  fastened  to  the 
bottom  of  the  river  furnish  anchorage  for  ship- 
ping of  all  description.  A  Quaker  Oats  sign 
on  one  side,  and  an  American  Petroleum  Com- 
pany tank  on  the  other  show  that  United  States 
enterprise  attends  to  the  first  wants  of  the  day 
and  furnishes  the  illumination  for  its  close. 
But  what  do  we  see  peeping  over  yonder  dike  ? 
A  windmill !  The  frontier  picket  of  an  immense 
army  that  works  night  and  day  in  the  struggle 
between  the  land  and  the  sea  for  the  possession 
of  Holland.  It  is  half-past  six  when  we  leave 
the  boat,  having  partaken  of  a  hearty  break- 
fast. Our  room  steward  finds  a  carriage  for 
us,  and  with  our  baggage  about  us  we  start  on 
a  jolty  ride  that  makes  us  long  more  than  once 
for  the  decks  of  the  "Statendam." 

As  we  will  spend  several  days  at  Rotter- 
dam, after  swinging  around  the  circle,  we  go 
at  once  to  the  depot,  leave  our  impedimenta 
in  the  parcel-room,  clamber  back  into  the  car- 
riage and  drive  through  the  city.  At  this  hour 
nothing  is  open  but  the  Park,  which  is  very 
beautiful  in  the  early  morning.  The  roads  are 
smoother  than  the  clinker-paved  city  streets; 


IN    THE    PARK— ROTTERDAM 


Rotterdam  1 1 

birds  are  singing,  and  grass  and  plants  are 
sparkling  with  dew. 

The  antics  of  a  sparrow  near  the  carriage 
are  amusing.  It  is  poised  in  air  like  a 
humming-bird,  and  evidently  intent  on  some 
object  in  the  grass,  probably  an  insect.  One  is 
puzzled  to  know  why  it  does  not  devour  its 
helpless  victim  at  once,  until  you  notice  a 
"Keep  Off  the  Grass"  sign  just  a  few  feet 
away,  and  you  recognize  that  you  have  met 
your  first  but  by  no  means  your  last  example 
of  the  absolute  obedience  to  vested  authority 
which  obtains  throughout  the  Netherlands. 

We  drive  on,  and  the  last  thing  we  see  is 
that  English  sparrow,  personification  of  law- 
lessness at  home,  still  hovering  hungrily  in 
the  air. 

It  is  Saturday — scrubbing  day.  Later  ob- 
servation shows  that  there  are  five  other 
scrubbing  days  each  week,  but  Saturday  is  the 
day  on  which  they  become  rabid  on  the  subject. 

Wooden-shod  servants  are  splashing  and 
mopping  and  soaking  and  rubbing  every  exte- 
rior surface,  horizontal  and  perpendicular. 
Not  only  windows  and  walks,  but  the  walls  of 
the  houses  are  given  a  dressing  until  they 


12  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

fairly  shine.  With  pedestrians  it  is  a  case  of 
'Sauve  qui  pent;  but  safe  in  our  carriage  we 
ride  above  the  storm.  Other  maidens  are 
beating  carpets,  unrolling  them  over  the  tops 
of  stepladders,  and  rolling  them  up  after  every 
particle  of  dust  is  out  of  them.  As  in  Spain 
children  play  at  bull-fighting,  so  in  Holland  you 
see  the  little  ones  with  miniature  implements 
pounding  away  at  small  pieces  of  carpet,  or 
washing  the  sides  of  their  playhouses. 

While  we  are  waiting  for  Cook's  office  to 
open  and  cash  an  express  order,  we  hear  a 
rattle  as  of  some  monster  locust.  It  stops,  and 
a  few  minutes  later  it  sounds  again,  this  time 
just  around  the  corner.  We  await  develop- 
ments. Pretty  soon  a  fifteen-year-old  boy  in 
dusty  clothing  and  wooden  shoes  makes  his 
appearance.  In  his  hand  he  carries  a  watch- 
man's rattle,  and  as  he  passes  a  nearby  door 
he  gives  it  a  terrific  whirl.  Almost  instantly 
a  maid  appears  carrying  an  ash-can,  which 
she  deposits  on  the  sidewalk.  A  wagon  follows 
the  boy  with  the  rattle,  the  can  is  emptied  into 
the  wagon  by  the  man  in  charge  and  returned 
to  the  maid,  who  takes  it  into  the  house.  You 
see  no  row  of  unsightly  receptacles  decorating 


Rotterdam  13 

the  curb,  and  anyone  who  leaves  an  ash-can 
on  the  walk,  except  in  obedience  to  the  rattle, 
or  fails  to  remove  it  when  empty,  is  subject 
to  a  fine. 

Another  of  the  '"different"  things  that  strikes 
the  eye  of  an  American  is  the  practice  of 
placing  mirrors  outside  the  windows  of  the 
houses.  These  are  circular  or  oblong  in  form, 
about  eight  by  ten  inches  in  size,  and  hung 
at  such  an  angle  as  will  enable  the  lady  of  the 
house  to  observe  the  callers  or  passers-by  with- 
out being  seen.  "You  have  nothing  like  that 
in  America,"  our  cabby  remarks,  as  we  stare 
at  the  queer-looking  contrivances.  And  we  are 
obliged  to  confess  that  our  window  ornament 
which  most  nearly  suggests  them — the  rubber 
plant — is  entirely  dissimilar. 

The  first  impression  of  Holland  is  pleasing, 
and  this  impression  is  deepened  with  every  day 
of  our  stay.  Thrift,  cleanliness  and  a  high 
average  of  comfort  seem  to  abound.  Nor  do 
they  lack  a  love  of  the  beautiful.  All  of  the 
public  utilities,  such  as  lamp-posts,  mail-boxes, 
telephone-poles  and  viaducts,  are  made  orna- 
mental without  detracting  a  particle  from  their 
usefulness.  Water  is  always  the  landscape 


14  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

gardener's  best  friend,  and  water  is  every- 
where. Nor  should  one  fail  to  mention,  among 
other  first  impressions,  the  perfectly  natural 
courtesy  which  you  meet  on  every  hand. 

We  drive  along  the  Boompjes  and  past  the 
Sailors'  Home,  one  of  the  many  well-conducted 
charities.  We  get  another  glimpse  of  the  green, 
white  and  green  funnel  of  our  steamer,  and 
then  ask  the  driver  to  find  a  smoother  street. 
With  all  due  respect  to  the  etymologists,  I 
believe  that  the  Boompjes  were  named  by  some 
one  who  had  ridden  over  them  in  an  iron-tired 
cab. 

Erasmus  was  born  in  Rotterdam.  His 
statue  stands  at  the  head  of  the  Groote  Markt, 
and  looked  benign  approval  when  we  purchased 
a  pound  of  beautiful  black  cherries  from  the 
old  peasant  woman  whose  counter  is  erected 
under  its  shadow.  Erasmus  was  born  in  1467.' 
The  House  of  Erasmus  was  built  in  1896.  That 
seemed  like  a  long  time  to  keep  him  waiting, 
but  such  a  little  thing  would  not  worry  a  phi- 
losopher, particularly  a  Dutch  philosopher. 
Later  inquiry  developed  the  fact  that  this  was 
a  facsimile  of  the  original  house.  It  is  cer- 
tainly quaint  and  interesting,  and  almost  as 


Rotterdam  1 5 


satisfactory  as  the  real  thing.  There  are  many 
houses  in  Rotterdam  that  antedate  the  birth 
of  Erasmus,  however,  and  at  3  Slepersvest  we 
saw  one  that  bore  the  date  1400  and  was  still 
habitable.  .  Erasmus  saw  the  inconsistencies 
and  abuses  of  the  Catholic  Church,  but  lacked 
the  courage  to  come  out  boldly  in  support  of 
the  Reformation.  As  a  consequence  of  his 
desire  to  effect  reforms  from  within,  he  made 
enemies  in  both  camps.  He  wished  to  correct 
the  temporal  abuses  of  the  church  without  tam- 
pering with  its  dogmas.  His  timidity  was  a 
reflection  of  a  weak  physical  embodiment 
which  manifested  itself  in  many  queer  and 
childish  superstitions  and  aversions.  Among 
others  may  be  mentioned  the  fact  that  the 
sight  of  a  herring  would  throw  him  into 
spasms.  He  died  in  Basel  in  1536,  having 
removed  very  few  obstructions  from  the  rough 
channel  of  sixteenth  century  ecclesiasticism, 
and  was  apparently  content  to  have  steered  his 
own  frail  bark  safely  among  them. 

Bicycles  are  as  much  in  evidence  all  around 
us  as  they  were  in  America  fifteen  years  ago. 
Ladies,  children,  soldiers  and  artisans,  go 
wheeling  past  on  thoroughly  modern  machines. 


1 6  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

We  even  saw  a  nun  making  her  rounds  on  a 
pneumatic-tired  safety. 

Flemish  horses  are  the  finest  looking  speci- 
mens in  the  world,  but  to  the  casual  observer 
three-fourths  of  the  hauling  seems  to  be  done 
in  carts  propelled  by  men,  women  or  dogs. 
And  the  latter  soon  become  the  objects  of  your 
sympathy,  for,  instead  of  going  between  shafts, 
where  they  can  bark  at  other  dogs  and  enjoy 
themselves,  they  are  crouched  under  the  body 
of  the  cart,  midway,  and  harnessed  to  the  axle. 
Life  in  a  treadmill  would  be  a  summer  picnic 
in  comparison.  They  cannot  even  pursue  their 
natural  enemy,  the  flea,  and  a  flea  is  a  good  deal 
like  a  small  boy  who  hitches  on  a  street-car. 
He  does  not  enjoy  it  half  as  much  when  he  is 
not  chased  off.  So  the  dogs  are  deserted  for 
the  tourists  at  every  opportunity.  The  export 
flea  statistics  would  be  highly  interesting  if 
they  could  ever  be  compiled. 

We  went  to  Boyman's  Museum  at  nine- 
fifteen.  It  does  not  open  until  ten ;  but  a 
sign  informs  the  public  that  strangers  may 
enter  earlier.  That  is  another  example  of  their 
never-failing  courtesy. 

Getting  up  at  three  in  the  morning  does  not 


Rotterdam  17 

tend  to  produce  enthusiasm  in  a  gallery  at 
nine.  We  saw  a  Rubens,  a  Van  Dyck,  and  a 
Rembrandt.  They  were  not  brilliant  examples 
of  the  work  of  those  masters.  The  guild  pic- 
tures and  corporation  pieces  are  characteristic 
of  Holland.  Every  face  in  the  picture  is  a 
portrait,  and  generally  the  portrait  of  a  con- 
tributor; so  each  stands  out  with  startling 
distinctness. 

We  returned  to  the  streets,  where  the  preva- 
lence of  push-carts  again  struck  us.  Every- 
thing is  sold  from  them — from  kerosene  in 
gallon  cans  to  upholstered  furniture. 

After  sampling  most  of  the  street-cars,  we 
finally  land  at  a  ferry  which  we  hope  will 
take  us  over  to  the  steamship  offices.  They 
are  on  one  of  the  two  big  islands  in  the  Maas 
River.  At  the  landing,  several  ferry  passen- 
gers assisted  a  push-cart  man  with  his  over- 
laden vehicle,  and  later  in  the  day  a  laborer 
walked  a  block  with  us  to  point  out  our  car 
line,  and  even  searched  his  pockets  for  a  coin 
to  show  us  how  much  fare  we  should  pay.  I 
thought  he  wanted  to  pay  our  fare,  but  B. 
says  not. 

These  incidents  are  mentioned  because  they 


1 8  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

illustrate  the  universal  courtesy  that  has  been 
spoken  of  before.  There  is  no  one  thing  which 
impresses  an  American  as  being  quite  so  un- 
usual, so  foreign,  as  politeness. 

After  registering  our  return  steamer  ticket, 
we  took  no  more  chances  on  street-cars,  but 
hired  a  carriage  and  were  driven  to  the  Cafe 
Stroomberg  for  lunch.  After  an  excellent 
repast,  we  found  we  had  time  to  make  a  stop 
or  two  between  the  restaurant  and  depot. 

We  dropped  off  the  car  at  St.  Lawrence 
Church,  a  once  beautiful  building,  with  a  tower 
which  it  costs  a  dime  and  much  labor  to  ascend ; 
but  the  view  is  magnificent.  The  church  was 
begun  eighty  years  before  Columbus  discovered 
America,  and  the  tower  is  not  completed  yet. 
We  both  agreed,  however,  that  it  was  plenty 
high  enough,  and  would  not  have  had  another 
step  added  to  it  for  worlds.  Dozens  of  pigeons 
whirred  away  as  we  stepped  out  onto  the  nar- 
row platform  and  looked  over  the  miles  of 
red-tiled  roofs  that  stretched  in  every  direction. 

The  interior  of  the  church  was  ruined  by 
the  Reformers,  who  whitewashed  its  walls 
and  placed  wooden  pews  in  the  center,  shorten- 
ing the  view  from  every  side.  It  has  a  mag- 


A    CANAL    NEAR    ST.    LAWRENCE    CHURCH— ROTTER- 
DAM 


Rotterdam  19 

nificent  organ,  and  its  pavement  forms  the 
roof  of  countless  graves,  with  only  here  and 
there  a  legible  inscription. 

Street-car  fare  in  Holland  is  three  cents  a 
trip,  and  for  four  cents  you  receive  a  return 
ticket.  The  conductor  carries  more  documents 
than  a  congressman.  For  every  fare  he  opens 
an  aluminum  box  about  four  by  six,  and  hands 
out  a  receipt  or  a  return  ticket,  as  the  case 
may  be.  When  the  passengers  pay  with 
tickets,  he  places  them — the  tickets,  not  the 
passengers — in  a  leather  pouch  hung  by  a  strap 
around  his  neck.  It  is  important  that  you 
retain  the  receipt  given  you,  for  at  uncertain 
intervals  a  "controlleur"  gets  on  the  car  and 
examines  all  the  receipts,  puts  his  O.  K.  on 
them  with  a  rubber  stamp,  and  compares  the 
result  with  the  manifest,  or  log,  carried  by  the 
conductor.  It  is  quite  the  correct  thing  to 
tip  the  conductor  with  a  Dutch  cent  or  two. 

We  reach  the  station  at  one-fifty  "city  time," 
and  there  learned  for  the  first  time  that  the 
trains  are  all  run  by  Greenwich  time,  which  is 
twenty  minutes  slower  than  the  sun  time  of 
the  various  towns.  Although  we  used  four 
"times"  in  the  foregoing  sentence,  we  still  had 


2O  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

time  to  spare,  and  waited  half  an  hour  for  our 
train.  This  illogical  horological  arrangement 
explains  the  presence  of  an  extra  minute  hand 
on  most  of  the  hotel  clocks  twenty  minutes 
behind  the  regular  hand. 

While  B.  is  buying  stamps  for  post-cards, 
I  sit  in  the  waiting-room  and  listen  to  the  man 
who  calls  the  trains.  He  makes  me  homesick, 
for  there  is  something  about  his  inarticulate 
utterance  and  general  inutility  that  reminds 
me  of  our  own  United  States. 

The  Hollanders  are  the  most  patient  and 
courageous  people  on  earth.  Not  only  do  they 
live  under  the  daily  menace  of  the  waters  which 
literally  overshadow  their  land,  but  they  learn 
to  speak  Dutch !  Just  think  of  putting 
"Gevefrd"  on  a  sign  when  they  mean  fresh 
paint,  or  of  labeling  doors  "Duwen"  or  "Trek- 
ken"  when  it  would  be  so  much  simpler  to  say 
"Push"  or  "Pull."  And  how  would  you  like 
to  have  your  hair  cut  by  a  "hair  snijder"  ? 

We  bought  a  Dutch-English  lexicon  because 
we  were  unable  to  get  an  English-Dutch  one. 
We  derived  no  practical  benefit  from  our  pur- 
chase, but  it  afforded  us  a  world  of  fun. 


Rotterdam  21 

This  is  the  way  a  Hollander  is  taught  to  pro- 
nounce a  few  English  phrases : 

"I  wish  to  be  shaved"  is  clarified  to  the 
Netherland  student  by  being  rendered  "Y  wisj 
toe  bie  sjeevd." 

"You  overcharge"  is  "Joe  o'ver  tsjaardsj." 

"He  generally  keeps  good  hours"  looks  like 
this  to  Holland  eyes :  "Hie  dsjen  'reuli  kieps 
goed  ou'eus." 


22  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


II 


UR  run  to  The  Hague  is  a  short  one, 
but  brief  as  it  is,  we  make  our  first 
mistake  by  riding  through  Delft 
and  losing  part  of  a  day. 

Wooden  shoes  and  thick  woolen  stockings 
are  as  characteristic  of  one  end  of  the  Dutch 
peasant  woman  as  are  gold  or  silver  helmets 
with  gold  pendants  of  the  other.  And  over 
these  tight-fitting  metal  casques  a  lace  hood  is 
worn,  while  on  Sundays  and  holidays  the  eter- 
nal feminine  asserts  herself  by  wearing  a 
modern  bonnet  or  hat  atop  of  the  hood. 

On  the  road  to  The  Hague  we  pass  many 
picturesque  windmills  and  canals.  Ditches  full 
of  water  mark  the  boundaries  between  pastures, 
and  these  ditches  are  crossed  by  foot-bridges 
with  gates  in  the  middle  to  keep  the  pretty 
black  and  white  cows  from  invading  a  neigh- 
bor's pasture.  A  cheaper  way  would  be  to 


Delft  23 

put  up  a  "Verboten"  sign,  for  I  am  sure  that 
a  Dutch  cow  is  as  law-abiding  as  a  Dutch 
sparrow. 

We  stop  at  Schiedam  for  a  minute  to  take 
on  a  load.  Possibly  Schiedam  is  the  fountain- 
head  of  more  "loads"  than  any  other  town  in 
Holland,  for  here  is  manufactured  the  cele- 
brated Schiedam  Schnapps.  Old  inhabitants 
say  that  the  trade  is  declining,  but  there  are 
two  hundred  distilleries  in  operation  now,  and 
countless  pigs  are  being  made  into  hogs  from 
the  waste  product,  while  hundreds  of  men  are 
undergoing  the  same  transformation  in  con- 
suming the  regular  output. 

You  next  pass  Briel,  on  an  island  in  the 
Maas.  Its  capture  by  the  happy-go-lucky 
"beggars  of  the  sea"  in  1572  was  the  first 
blow  struck  by  Holland  in  that  glorious  war 
which  ended  Spanish  supremacy  on  the  Conti- 
nent forever. 

Twenty-five  years  later  Martin  Tromp 
selected  Briel  as  his  birthplace,  and  in  paddling 
about  the  Maas,  half  river  and  half  sea,  he 
developed  the  fighting  abilities  which  made  him 
victor  in  thirty-two  naval  battles.  It  was  he 
who,  with  grim  Dutch  humor,  nailed  a  broom 


24  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

to  his  masthead  after  he  had  swept  the  channel 
clear  of  Holland's  enemies. 

Having  rearranged  the  above  from  Baedeker, 
I  look  up,  only  to  discover  that  we  passed 
Briel  while  I  was  writing. 

Now  we  are  in  the  country  again.  There 
goes  a  sailboat  behind  a  hedge,  and  on  the 
other  side  of  the  track  a  three-mast  schooner 
is  crossing  a  pasture.  It  looks  so  strange — 
this  jumble  of  masts  and  windmills,  canal- 
boats  and  cows.  We  wonder  if  they  have  cow- 
catchers on  their  canal-boats. 

At  The  Hague,  or  La  Haye,  or  Den  Hague, 
or  s'Gravenhage,  as  you  may  elect,  we  take  a 
bus  to  our  hotel  and  are  well  shaken  while 
taken  over  a  clinker-brick  pavement.  After 
securing  a  room,  we  return  by  trolley  to  the  sta- 
tion and  catch  the  train  back  to  Delft,  with  just 
one  minute  to  spare.  They  have  the  usual  con- 
tinental custom  of  taking  up  your  ticket  at  the 
end  of  your  journey,  but  they  complicate  mat- 
ters by  requiring  a  punch  at  a  turn-stile  before 
you  get  on  the  train,  and  another  by  the  guard 
before  it  pulls  out. 

Delft  is  a  city  of  misfortune.     In  the  middle 


Delft  25 

of  the  sixteenth  century  she  was  destroyed  by 
fire.  In  1584  she  was  the  scene  of  the  assas- 
sination of  William  the  Silent.  In  1654  a  pow- 
der explosion  ruined  more  than  five  hundred 
houses.  In  1742  a  similar  catastrophe  occurred. 
Do  you  wonder  that  Delft  china  was  blue,  amid 
such  jarring  surroundings,  and  that  its  manu- 
facture has  ceased  with  the  exception  of  one 
factory  ? 

For  a  nation  whose  best  known  literary 
work  is  the  "Camera  Obscura,"  the  inhabitants 
of  Holland  become  wonderfully  excited  over  a 
kodak.  In  Delft  we  had  to  seek  the  refuge  of 
sanctuary  and  flee  into  the  Prinsenhof  to  get 
away  from  the  children  while  changing  films. 
At  least  we  thought  it  was  the  Prinsenhof, 
and  the  smiling  and  sweet-voiced  siren  who 
towed  us  through  carefully  nursed  that  delu- 
sion by  cleverly  misunderstanding  our  English 
on  that  one  point.  We  were,  in  a  measure, 
compensated  by  an  opportunity  to  try  for  a 
time-exposure  photograph  of  a  large  painting 
of  soldiers  at  dinner,  with  each  head  a  portrait. 
We  also  saw  a  very  satisfying  and  human 
picture  of  William  the  Silent  in  the  Council 
Chamber. 


26  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  square  is  the 
Nieuwe  Kerke.  As  it  was  finished  in  1396,  it 
is  only  comparatively  new.  The  old  one  was 
built  in  the  thirteenth  century,  but,  except  for 
a  slight  tilt  to  the  tower,  it  looks  as  youthful 
as  its  juvenile  competitor. 

In  the  Nieuwe  Kerke  are  the  tombs  of  the 
members  of  the  Orange  family,  including  the 
mausoleum  of  William  the  Silent.  His  figure 
is  carved  with  the  faithful  dog  whose  barking 
warned  him  of  the  approach  of  hired  Spanish 
assassins  while  he  slept  in  his  tent  at  Malines. 
This  was  in  1572,  and  for  twelve  years  a  price 
was  on  his  head,  offered  by  Phillip  II.  to  any 
one  who  would  kill  him.  This  price  was 
finally  paid  to  the  parents  of  Gerards  in  1584. 

A  statue  of  Hugo  Grotius  adorns  the  center 
of  the  square.  He  was  born  in  Delft  in  1583, 
and  is  also  buried  in  the  Nieuwe  Kerke.  He 
was  a  miracle  of  precocity.  He  extemporized 
Latin  verses  when  he  was  nine  years  old,  and 
at  twelve  entered  the  Leyden  University.  At 
fifteen  he  was  a  member  of  an  embassy  which 
endeavored  to  enlist  the  aid  of  France  in  the 
war  with  Spain.  At  thirty-six,  having  served 


A   QUIET   SPOT  IN  DELFT 


Delft  27 

his  country  in  every  other  capacity,  he  was 
thrown  into  jail  under  a  life  sentence.  At 
the  same  time,  Barneveldt,  one  of  the  grandest 
figures  in  Dutch  history,  was  condemned  to 
death 

In  those  days,  not  to  have  been  a  prisoner 
or  a  fugitive  from  justice  was  a  blot  on  your 
record.  Hugo's  wife  and  maid-servant  and 
some  relatives  succeeded  in  extricating  him 
from  prison  in  a  box  which  had  been  used  for 
carrying  books  to  his  cell.  After  successfully 
getting  the  box  to  its  destination,  they  almost 
let  the  man  suffocate  while  they  thumped  on 
the  lid  and  listened  and  nearly  had  hysterics 
because  they  heard  no  sound  from  within. 
Then  I  suppose  an  idea  struck  them,  or  a  man 
came  along,  for  they  opened  the  box  just  in 
the  nick  of  time.  Never  since  reading  about 
that  transaction  have  I  doubted  the  humorous 
accounts  of  how  a  woman  will  fret  and  worry 
over  the  post-mark  on  an  envelope  for  minutes 
before  it  will  occur  to  her  to  solve  the  mystery 
by  opening  it. 

Well,  that  little  screed  eases  me  wonderfully, 
because  that  artful  little  Dutch  minx,  when 


28  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

finally  cornered  and  asked  to  point  out  the  spot 
on  which  William  the  Silent  was  shot,  admitted 
that  we  were  in  the  Stadhuis  and  that  the 
Prinsenhof  was  half  a  mile  away. 

It  lacked  five  minutes  of  five  when  we  left 
the  Stadhuis,  and  our  chances  of  seeing  the 
Prinsenhof  seemed  slim  for  that  day,  as  it 
closes  at  five.  But,  remembering  former  expe- 
riences, we  thought  we  would  test  Dutch  cour- 
tesy again,  and  so  we  walked  over.  Arriving 
at  ten  minutes  past  five,  we  found  everything 
shut  as  tight  as  a  drum.  An  inviting  bell-pull 
caught  our  eye,  and  we  summoned  the  custo- 
dian, who  lives  in  the  building,  and  were 
shown  through  as  cheerfully  as  though  we  were 
the  first  visitors  of  the  day.  We  went  first  to 
the  dining-room  where  William  the  Silent  ate 
his  last  meal.  His  wife  had  forebodings,  and 
did  not  like  the  appearance  of  the  messenger, 
Gerards,  who  had  arrived  that  day,  but  William 
did  not  share  her  fears.  He  had  escaped 
assassination  so  often  since  Phillip  II.  had  de- 
cided on  that  method  of  warfare,  that  he  had 
reason  to  believe  in  a  certain  degree  of  immu- 
nity. So,  surrounded  by  his  family,  he  stepped 


Delft  29 

from  the  dining-room  into  the  hall.  Behind 
the  column  where  we  stood  crouched  Gerards, 
and,  as  William  reached  the  first  step,  two 
poisoned  bullets  were  discharged,  passing 
through  his  body  and  burying  themselves  in 
the  wall  a  short  distance  above  the  steps. 
Draperies  probably  helped  to  conceal  the  assas- 
sin, but  with  that  exception  everything  is  as 
it  was  on  July  10,  1584,  the  day  of  the  crime. 
The  massive  dining-table,  built  to  carry  a 
Dutch  dinner,  is  in  its  place  with  the  chairs 
about  it,  for  William,  like  all  true  Hollanders, 
was  a  good  trencherman.  The  large  fireplace 
at  either  end  makes  it  easy  to  picture  a  scene 
of  comfort  which  would  have  been  one  of  good- 
cheer  but  for  Holland's  unhappy  lot.  We 
descended  the  little  half-stairs  down  which  the 
assassin  plunged  in  his  futile  efforts  to  escape. 
We  were  glad  that  he  did  not  get  away,  but 
a  little  sorry  that  Holland  expressed  her  horror 
at  his  deed  by  subjecting  him  to  most  awful 
torture  as  long  as  he  had  a  breath  left  in  his 
body. 

We  feared  that  the  bullet  holes  in  the  wall 
would  have  needed  "restoring,"  but  found  they 


30  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

had  grown  until  they  cover  about  three  inches 
of  space  and  are  covered  by  a  netting. 

Delft  is  connected  by  a  canal  with  its  port, 
Delft-Haven,  endeared  to  Americans  as  the 
spot  from  which  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  embarked 
for  Southampton,  July  22,  1620. 


The  Hague  and  Scheveningen  31 


III 

The  Hague  and  Scheveningen 

E  returned  to  The  Hague  by  train,  and 
after  dinner  we  forgot  our  early 
closing  resolutions  and  took  a  trolley 
to  Scheveningen,  a  half  hour's  ride. 

In  1570,  one-half  of  Scheveningen  dis- 
appeared into  the  North  Sea  and  was  never 
seen  again.  On  eyery  pretty  summer's  day, 
about  half  of  it  disappears  into  the  sea  again, 
but  it  comes  out  smiling,  shakes  the  water  out 
of  its  skirts,  and  dons  its  promenade  apparel 
for  a  walk  on  the  beach. 

The  beach  is  magnificent,  and  the  long  pier 
when  lighted  at  night  is  beautiful.  At  its  end 
sits  the  little  concert  hall,  sparkling  over  the 
rolling  waters  like  a  gem  at  the  tip  of  a  mon- 
arch's scepter.  The  Philharmonic  Orchestra 
from  Berlin  played,  and  the  music  was  remark- 
ably good ;  but  we  only  listened  to  two  or  three 
numbers  as  we  sipped  our  chocolate,  and  then 


32  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

explored  the  various  devices  for  amusing  the 
populace.  These  did  not  differ  greatly  from 
our  own  catch-penny  arrangements,  and  we  did 
not  patronize  them.  There  were  four  in  our 
party,  and  we  extracted  some  fun  from  the 
exterior  of  a  circus,  the  ticket-seller  of  which 
overestimated  our  gullibility  and  tried  to  sell 
us  tickets  at  just  quadruple  the  regular  rates. 

We  went  home  rather  early,  patronizing  the 
trolley  again.  And  that  reminds  me  that  they 
do  things  better  in  Holland  in  connection  with 
their  trolley  systems  than  in  most  countries. 
Instead  of  covering  the  exterior  of  the  car  with 
a  multiplicity  of  signs  which  only  spell  dis- 
traction to  the  foreigner,  each  route  is  num- 
bered, and  the  stranger  who  asks  the  way  to 
the  depot  is  told  to  take  car  5  or  1 1,  as  the  case 
may  be.  This  number  is  carried  on  a  board 
at  the  roof  of  the  car  in  front,  and  also  on 
the  trolley  pole.  In  London  you  cannot  tell 
whether  a  bus  is  going  to  Oxford  Circus  or 
Alsopp's  Ale.  In  Holland  you  cannot  make  a 
mistake. 

We  ran  up  against  an  obstruction  when  we 
reached  our  car,  which  we  voted  was  an  im- 
provement after  recovering  our  dignity. 


The  Hague  and  Scheveningen  33 

Having  been  taught  that  the  race  is  quite  often 
to  the  swift,  we  naturally  commenced  to  sprint 
as  soon  as  we  saw  our  car  waiting  on  the 
tracks.  Not  a  seat  was  taken,  although  a  lot 
of  timid-looking  natives  were  standing  in  line 
at  right  angles  to  the  track.  "This  is  luck," 
we  said,  and  scrambled  aboard.  Almost  imme- 
diately we  scrambled  off,  at  the  request  of 
uniformed  authority,  and  lined  up  behind  the 
natives,  who  took  the  matter  seriously  and 
were  kind  enough  not  to  laugh  at  us. 

Each  car  has  a  card  inside  stating  how  many 
places  there  are,  and  on  each  platform  is  an- 
other saying  how  many  people  may  stand 
thereon.  When  the  seats  and  both  platforms 
are  full,  the  sign  "Vol"  is  put  up,  and  no 
more  are  permitted  to  get  aboard.  Our  car 
probably  had  thirty  people  in  it  and  on  the 
platforms,  and  was  turning  business  away  at 
every  crossing.  I  told  an  English-speaking- 
Hollander  that  we  would  get  sixty  people  into 
a  car  of  that  size  in  the  United  States.  He 
said,  "But  would  that  be  so  agreeable?"  I 
said,  "No ;  but  it  would  be  so  profitable."  And 
he  said,  "So?"  and  was  thoughtful  for  some 
time.  I  am  afraid  he  viewed  the  matter  from 


34  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

the  standpoint  of  a  passenger  instead  of  a 
stockholder,  an  utterly  impractical  view,  as  we 
all  know. 

The  Dutch  name  of  The  Hague,  s'Graven- 
hage,  means  the  Count's  hedge.  This  hedge 
surrounded  the  hunting-park  of  the  Count  of 
Holland  in  the  thirteenth  century.  Ever  since, 
its  climatic  advantages  and  proximity  to  the 
beach  have  made  it  a  favorite  residence  of 
nobility  and  royalty.  Since  the  accession  of 
the  House  of  Orange  to  the  throne  of  Holland, 
in  1814,  it  has  been  the  capital. 

We  arose  early  the  next  morning  for  a  visit 
to  the  House  in  the  Woods,  one  of  Wil- 
helmina's  dwelling-places.  After  investigating 
various  means  of  transportation,  we  concluded 
to  walk,  and  we  were  glad  of  our  decision. 
Unless  the  weather  is  bad,  you  cannot  see  the 
Woods  properly  in  any  other  way.  It  is  only 
a  thirty  minutes'  stroll,  and  the  path  winds 
along  and  across  limpid  brooks  and  through 
virgin  forests,  centuries  old,  under  a  dense 
shade  that  deepens  noonday  into  twilight,  and 
between  green,  moss-covered  trunks  that 
soften  every  tone  until  your  step  seems  profana- 
tron  and  you  want  to  tiptoe  and  look  for 


OX  THE  WAY  TO  THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WOODS 


The  Hague  and  Scheveningen  35 

brownies  and  fairy  rings.  And  as  you  look 
upward  at  the  gothic  arches  formed  by  the 
interlaced  branches,  you  realize  how  puny,  how 
evanescent,  are  the  temples  of  stone  which  have 
sought  to  copy  man's  first  place  of  worship, 
the  forest. 

The  exterior  of  the  House  is  a  distinct  dis- 
appointment. But  wait !  Once  across  the 
threshold  and  delivered  over  to  the  stately 
gray-haired  dame  who  was  our  conductress, 
you  are  in  wonderland.  Most  of  the  furnish- 
ings are  gifts  to  Holland's  beloved  queen.  In 
the  dining-room  is  a  magnificent  gold- 
embroidered  screen  of  Chinese  workmanship. 
Once  there  were  blended  with  the  gold  in  its 
design,  pearl-like  beads.  But  alas !  these  pearls 
were  placed  before  tourists,  who  turned  and 
rended  that  screen  until  there  is  scarcely  one 
left.  And  those  that  still  remain  are  double- 
stitched.  I  tried  them. 

The  Orange  Room,  where  the  Peace  Com- 
mittee meets  between  wars,  is  in  this  House, 
and  is  enchanting.  The  double  doors  opening 
into  it  have  figures  of  Hercules  and  Minerva 
on  the  panels,  typifying  Strength  and  Wisdom 
opening  the  door  of  Peace,  or  closing  it,  as  the 


36  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

case  may  be.  The  room  is  octagonal,  and  every 
square  foot  of  wall  and  ceiling  is  covered  with 
allegorical  pictures  representing  the  life  of 
Frederick  Henry,  son  of  William  the  Silent. 
The  paintings  were  made  by  order  of  his 
widow,  Amalia  of  Solms,  and  executed  by  fifty 
pupils  of  Rubens.  The  posthumous  birth  is 
shown  with  the  dark  figure  of  his  father 
watching  from  the  other  shore.  On  the  oppo- 
site wall,  the  vices  and  dangers  of  youth  are 
graphically  symbolized.  The  whole  is  an  har- 
monious arrangement  and  lighted  beautifully. 
There  is  a  Chinese  room  furnished  by  that 
government  in  oriental  manner.  The  Japanese 
have  given  the  furnishings  of  a  quaint  apart- 
ment. Its  ceiling  is  in  black  and  white  plaster 
with  rice  paper  on  the  walls,  and  a  unique 
chandelier,  each  taper  of  which  is  formed  by 
an  inverted  saucer  holding  a  dainty  teacup. 
Magnificent  cloisonne  vases  decorate  the  sides, 
and  a  beautifully  carved  cabinet  stands  against 
one  wall.  The  Hollanders  won  the  confidence 
and  friendship  of  these  oriental  countries 
centuries  before  they  opened  their  ports  to  any 
other  nation.  Americans  rejoice  to  see  an 
excellent  portrait  of  Motley  given  a  prominent 


The  Hague  and  Scheveningen  37 

place  in  the  room  where  he  wrote  of  Holland 
and  her  brave  struggle  for  liberty.  His  picture 
was  painted  especially  for  Wilhelmina,  who 
has  a  strong  admiration  for  Holland's  Ameri- 
can historian. 

Two  delightful  marbles  are  in  this  room. 
They  represent  a  sleeping  and  a  playing  infant. 
Last  but  not  least  in  its  attractiveness  is  a 
miracle  in  mosaic,  a  flower-piece  which  needs 
microscopic  examination  to  distinguish  it  from 
the  most  delicate  painting. 

\Ye  return  home  in  a  slight  shower,  which 
hardly  penetrates  the  foliage  of  the  woods, 
and  again  murmur,  "Blessed  is  the  country  of 
short  distances." 

The  Mauritshuis  does  not  open  until 
twelve-thirty,  so  our  party  orders  a  one-florin 
luncheon  at  a  cafe  called  "de  Pool/'  feeling 
that  at  that  price  there  is  no  danger  of  going 
in  over  our  heads.  Nutmeg  is  prominent  in 
the  cooking  here,  as  it  is  all  over  Holland. 
It  is  raised  in  their  colonies  and  eaten  as  a 
patriotic  duty.  It  is  fortunate  that  they  do  not 
raise  garlic.  The  Dutch  have  made  successful 
colonists  everywhere,  but  the  Belgians  have 


38  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

been  more  noted  for  raising  Cain  than  anything 
else. 

The  two  star  attractions  of  the  Mauritshuis 
are  Rembrandt's  "Lesson  in  Anatomy"  and 
Potter's  "Bull."  The  first  is  a  vivid  picture 
of  a  clinic,  splendidly  done,  but,  except  as  a 
means  of  showing  admiration  for  his  friend, 
Surgeon  Tulp,  a  most  useless  waste  of  paint. 

Paul  Potter's  "Bull"  is  a  good  picture  of  a 
scrubby  eight-months-old  bull  calf  that  would 
not  be  permitted  to  invade  the  Panhandle  of 
Texas.  It  is  well  done,  of  course,  even  to  three 
or  four  flies  on  its  haunch  and  a  green  frog  at 
its  feet;  but  Robbe  has  some  better  pictures 
of  better  cattle  in  the  Courtrai  Gallery. 

We  again  go  to  Scheveningen  in  the  after- 
noon, this  time  through  another  woods  and 
between  the  tiny  houses  of  the  old  fishing 
village,  Scheveningen  proper,  whereas  the 
beach  is  not  always  so.  We  view  quaint  cos- 
tumes out  for  their  Sunday  stroll,  and  are  lured 
into  a  Cabaret  Artistique  and  locked  in.  We 
expected  to  see  a  vaudeville,  but  instead  we  sat 
and  blinked  at  cinematograph  pictures  for  half 
an  hour. 

After  our  escape  we  took  a  stroll  on  the 


THE  CHINESE  ROOM  IN  THE  HOUSE  IX  THE  WOODS — 


The  Hague  and  Scheveningen  39 

beach.  All  bathing  is  forbidden  after  two 
Sunday  afternoon,  so  we  watched  the  breakers 
for  a  while  and  returned  for  a  walk  through 
the  village. 

My!  what  a  stampede  was  created  by  our 
camera !  Mothers  grabbed  their  children,  or 
pushed  them  ahead  of  them  in  frantic  efforts 
to  escape.  Cajolery  was  futile,  bribery  was 
spurned.  In  only  one  case  did  we  succeed  in 
corrupting  a  group  of  urchins  into  posing.  We 
must  have  overpaid  them,  for  they  evidently 
thought  that  we  had  given  them  a  day's  com- 
pensation, and  it  was  almost  impossible  to  get 
away  from  them.  The  women,  with  their  queer 
head-dresses,  their  shawls,  and  immense, 
padded  hips,  kept  out  of  sight  when  they  saw 
our  camera.  They  are  a  very  interesting  type, 
but  difficult  to  get  into  print. 

Horns  are  used  for  many  purposes  in  Hol- 
land. The  street-car  conductor  uses  one 
instead  of  a  whistle.  Your  hotel  porter  calls 
a  carriage  by  blowing  a  horn.  We  passed  a 
gang  of  pipe-layers,  and  in  place  of  the  usual 
"Yeo  heave  oh,"  the  foreman  tooted  a  horn 
at  every  tug  of  the  men. 

The   Hague  has   fourteen  churches  of  the 


4O  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

established  order.  The  preachers  wear  low 
shoes  with  big  buckles,  black  stockings, 
knickerbockers  and  long  coats.  They  are  all 
smooth-shaven  and  wear  a  sort  of  truncated 
plug  hat  of  dull  black  cloth.  As  a  rule,  they 
are  wholesome,  hearty-looking  men  who  stand 
the  ordeal  of  knee-trousers  very  well.  They 
rotate  from  pulpit  to  pulpit,  and  each  in  turn 
preaches  in  every  one  of  the  fourteen  churches. 
The  sermons  are  fifty  minutes  in  length.  Two 
collections  are  taken  at  each  service,  one  for 
the  poor  and  the  other  for  the  running  expenses 
of  the  church.  The  deacons,  or  whoever 
they  are  who  pass  the  baskets,  wear  full  dress 
and  white  gloves.  No  choirs  are  employed  in 
any  of  the  churches,  but  the  singing  is  led  by 
a  precentor.  The  men  and  women  occupy 
different  parts  of  the  church. 

We  visit  the  Gevangenpoort,  an  ancient 
tower  formerly  used  as  a  prison  for  political 
offenders.  From  here,  in  1672,  brave  Cor- 
nelius De  Witt  and  his  brother  John  were 
dragged  by  a  maddened  and  mistaken  populace 
and  murdered  and  hung  head  down  for  crimes 
of  which  they  were  totally  innocent.  We  were 
shown  the  hospital  of  the  prison  where  Cor- 


The  Hague  and  Scheveningen  41 

nelius  was  kept  for  some  time  after  his  arrest. 
The  walls  bear  pictures  of  his  house  and  that 
of  his  brother,  carved  by  Cornelius  with  a  pen- 
knife. The  people  thought  the  De  Witts  had 
plotted  against  the  life  of  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
and  Holland  has  never  failed  to  rally  to  the 
standard  of  that  idolized  house.  All  sorts  of 
instruments  of  torture  are  shown,  branding 
irons  and  a  stretching  apparatus  for  drawing 
the  facts  out  of  unwilling  witnesses.  The 
brand  of  the  stork  was  burned  into  the  hands 
of  a  certain  class  of  criminals,  a  form  of  small, 
hot  bird  not  at  all  popular.  There  is  in  the 
basement  a  rock,  hollowed  out  by  the  action  of 
water,  on  which  prisoners  were  forced  to  stand 
while  cold  water  dripped  on  their  heads.  "One 
day,  crazy ;  three  days,  dead,"  was  the  graphic 
summary  of  our  guide. 

One  cell  is  gruesomely  decorated  with  fres- 
coes done  in  the  blood  of  the  unfortunate 
inmate.  A  mute  and  melancholy  story  is  told 
by  a  hole  in  the  wall,  laboriously  made  through 
a  foot  of  stone,  only  to  encounter  solid  oak  par- 
titions backed  by  three  feet  of  masonry.  We 
stood  in  the  "large  room"  (about  twenty  by 


42  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

thirty)  where  the  prisoners  exercised.  The 
floor  under  us  was  six  hundred  years  old. 

A  cigar  has  been  defined  by  a  Hollander  as 
his  sixth  finger.  Evidence  of  their  universal 
use  may  be  seen  at  the  entrance  of  the 
Gevangenpoort,  where  pigeon-holes  are  pro- 
vided wherein  unsmoked  "remnants"  can  be 
deposited  and  checked  during  the  visit  to  the 
prison. 

Our  driver  to  the  station  let  us  take  our  lug- 
gage into  the  depot  without  paying  him.  Every 
one  is  trustful  and  jolly.  Grinning  old  Dutch- 
men mimic  our  "alright"  to  the  cabby,  and 
chuckle  and  lift  their  hats  when  they  see  that 
we  enjoy  it. 


4*.    !'_i 


THE    BEACH    AT    SCHEVSNINGEN. 


Leiden 


43 


IV 
Leiden 

E  lunch  at  the  depot  in  the  room 
of  the  Buffet  Maatschappij.  The 
menu  displays  the  familiar  legend, 
E  pluribus  iinum,  probably  referring  to  the 
hash.  We  eat  a  good  meal  and  watch 
the  scene  as  a  Rotterdam  train  unloads. 
Hollanders  of  every  province  and  tourists 
of  every  nation  mingle  amid  a  Babel  of  tongues 
and  a  kaleidoscope  of  color  and  motion. 

It  takes  eighteen  minutes  to  go  from  The 
Hague  to  Leiden.  We  are  crowded  into  a 
compartment.  I  have  a  suit-case  on  each  foot 
and  the  steamer  rug  in  my  lap.  A  fellow- 
feeling  for  some  of  the  victims  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion comes  over  me.  A  Hollander  and  his 
wife  share  our  "Niet  Rooken"  compartment. 

At  Leiden  we  hire  a  guide  at  forty  cents 
an  hour  to  show  us  around.  He  proved  to 
be  a  good  investment.  He  had  lived  in  Yon- 


44  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

kers  for  several  years,  and  spoke  a  mixture 
of  Holland  and  Yonkers  that  was  intelligible 
and  at  the  same  time  quaint.  He  showed  his 
understanding  of  one  of  the  objects  of  our  trip 
by  stopping  the  carriage  on  a  bridge  spanning 
the  Rhine,  from  which  place  we  had  a  beauti- 
ful view  of  the  river.  The  Rhine  is  not  very 
wide  at  this  point,  but  it  is  quite  thick.  It 
empties  into  the  North  Sea  at  Katwijk,  eight 
miles  away.  The  word  "empties"  is  used  in 
a  Pickwickian  sense.  The  Rhine  is  really 
picked  up  bodily  by  a  series  of  locks  and  thrown 
over  a  dike  into  the  sea. 

We  drove  past  a  statue  of  Booerhaave, 
Holland's  most  celebrated  physician.  It  is 
related  that  a  Chinese  mandarin  of  the 
eighteenth  century  once  addressed  a  letter  to 
"The  most  celebrated  physician  in  Europe," 
and  the  missive  was  safely  delivered  to  Booer- 
haave, and  he  admitted  that  he  was  the  man. 

We  drive  past  the  Morsch  gate,  a  relic  of  the 
old  fortifications,  along  rows  of  booths  in 
preparation  for  the  Kirmess,  which  starts  to- 
night and  forms  almost  the  sole  summer  amuse- 
ment of  provincial  Holland. 

Kirmess    booths    are    built    in    panels    and 


Leiden  45 

hauled  on  wagons  from  place  to  place  very 
much  as  the  buildings  intended  for  "boom" 
towns  are  made  out  West.  They  are  frail- 
looking,  and  the  possibilities  of  "bringing  down 
the  house"  -are  too  apparent  for  the  comfort  of 
nervous  spectators. 

The  naval  school,  with  its  scores  of  middies 
in  embryo,  is  an  interesting  sight,  and  as  we 
rest  our  camera  on  the  railing  of  the  bridge 
the  boys  line  up  with  a  whoop  and  stand,  caps 
in  hand,  until  the  button  is  pressed.  Then  we 
wave  them  a  farewell  and  receive  in  return 
three  hearty  cheers. 

A  stable  occupies  the  site  of  Rembrandt's 
birthplace.  One  wall  alone  remains  of  the 
house.  Not  a  vestige  of  his  father's  mill  is 
left.  Rembrandt  was  born  in  1606,  and  all 
Holland  is  celebrating  the  three  hundredth 
anniversary  of  that  event.  He  is  said  to  have 
formed  his  first  ideas  of  the  beauty  of  light 
and  shade  from  watching  the  effects  produced 
by  the  single  ray  of  light  admitted  into  the 
lofty  chamber  of  his  father's  mill  through  a 
small  ventilator.  This  was  the  falling  apple, 
the  boiling  kettle,  that  gave  the  hint  to  the 
latent  genius  that  slumbered  in  the  mind  of  the 


46  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

miller's  son.  And  only  in  chiaroscuro  was  he 
supreme.  With  a  few  notable  exceptions,  he 
never  rose  above  his  lowly  origin,  and  many 
of  his  pictures  show  grossness  of  expression 
and  imperfection  of  drawing.  But  he  was  a 
master  of  light  and  shadow.  With  few  ex- 
ceptions his  associates  were  of  the  lower  classes 
and  his  favorite  place  of  recreation  the  ale- 
house. 

An  interesting  house,  built  in  1612,  is 
pointed  out,  and  looks  as  though  it  would  be 
good  for  several  more  centuries.  It  was  for- 
merly occupied  by  municipal  offices,  but  is  now 
a  museum  of  antiquities. 

The  old  market  is  flanked  by  a  weigh-house 
on  which  is  carved  some  excellent  reliefs  repre- 
senting weights  and  measures,  grain  and  butter, 
etc. 

The  Stadhuis  bears  an  inscription  in  which 
is  concealed  a  chronogram  recording  the  date 
of  Leiden's  celebrated  siege,  1^4,  and  con- 
taining one  hundred  and  thirty-one  letters,  one 
for  each  day  that  it  continued.  The  siege  was 
lifted  October  third,  and  that  day  is  celebrated 
annually  by  a  thanksgiving  feast.  In  place  of 
our  turkey,  the  Leideners  eat  a  sort  of  Irish 


AN  OLD   HOUSE   ON  THE  RHINE— LEIDEN 


Leiden  47 

stew,  much  thickened.  Judging  from  their 
appearance,  the  citizens  are  in  a  state  of  physi- 
cal fortification  for' a  siege  at  any  moment. 

After  contemplating  the  chronogram,  which 
would  take  the  brain  of  an  Ignatius  Donnelly  to 
decipher  were  the  key  ever  lost,  we  were 
naturally  anxious  to  see  something  more  inti- 
mately connected  with  this,  the  most  marvelous 
siege  of  history.  So  we  climbed  the  highest 
natural  hill  in  the  province.  There  may  have 
been  higher  hills  temporarily  constructed  dur- 
ing the  erection  of  buildings,  but  our  guide 
impressed  on  us  the  fact  that  this  was  a 
"natural"'  hill.  With  only  one  guide — and  he 
a  cripple — without  axes,  ropes  or  alpenstocks, 
we  clambered  up  the  rugged  sides  of  this  emi- 
nence, until,  from  the  dizzy  height  of  eighty 
feet,  we  stood  within  the  walls  of  the  fortress 
which  crowns  its  summit.  An  old  well  is  in 
the  center  of  the  enclosure,  and  sleeping  apart- 
ments were  formed  by  leaving  recesses  in  the 
walls.  The  dikes  of  Katwijk  are  visible  to  the 
northeast.  These  were  the  dikes  that  were 
broken  down  by  William  the  Silent  in  his  last 
desperate  and  successful  effort  to  drive  away 
the  Spaniards,  who  for  over  four  months  had 


48  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

tightly  invested  the  starving  city.  Every  day 
of  that  siege  furnished  an  immortal  page  to 
history,  but  its  final  desperate  solution  showed 
the  deep  spirit  of  patriotism  that  made  the 
sea  preferable  to  the  Spaniard  if  Holland  must 
be  lost. 

With  the  memory  of  Haarlem's  betrayal 
fresh  in  their  minds,  the  citizens  of  Leiden 
knew  that  no  oath  was  binding  with  their  foe, 
and  thus  Spain,  by  her  treachery  of  one  year 
before  at  Haarlem's  gates,  solidified  the  natural 
patriotism  of  the  Hollander  into  a  granite  bar- 
rier. And  as  we  strained  our  eyes  toward 
Katwijk  we  could  picture  the  eager  faces  that 
watched  and  prayed  for  favorable  winds  as  the 
ships  of  the  relieving  party  advanced,  stopped, 
and  were  sometimes  even  turned  back  by  the 
shifting  currents  of  air  from  the  North  Sea. 
Finally  the  right  breeze  came,  and  came  in 
abundance,  and  the  bewildered  Spaniards  were 
panic-stricken  at  the  temporary  enlistment  of 
Holland's  old  enemy,  the  ocean,  on  the  side  of 
freedom,  and  fled. 

St.  Pancras  Church  is  worthy  of  a  visit  from 
every  lover  of  liberty,  if  only  for  the  purpose 
of  standing,  hat  in  hand,  before  the  monument 


Leiden  49 

of  Burgomaster  Van  der  Werf,  who  offered 
the  starving  people  his  own  body  in  preference 
to  surrendering  the  city. 

As  a  reward  of  merit  and  a  stimulus  to 
patriotism,-  William  the  Silent  founded  the 
University  of  Leiden,  which  is  still  an  institu- 
tion which  commands  world-wide  respect, 
although  it  is  not  the  leader  that  it  once  was. 

Near  the  church  of  St.  Ludwig,  a  powder 
explosion  occurred  in  1807  which  wrecked 
three  hundred  houses  and  killed  several  hun- 
dred people.  The  members  of  the  church 
thought  that  the  fact  that  the  edifice  was  not 
destroyed  showed  a  special  bias  in  their  favor 
on  the  part  of  Providence.  What  the  friends 
of  the  deceased  thought  is  not  recorded,  but  we 
venture  that  even  the  most  reverent  of  them 
hoped  that  the  next  time  an  instance  was 
wanted  of  how  near  you  could  come  to  hitting 
a  church  without  doing  so,  another  locality 
would  be  selected.  At  any  rate,  that  part  of 
the  city  was  never  rebuilt,  but  a  handsome  park 
bearing  the  honored  name  of  Van  der  Werf 
now  covers  the  ground. 

To  show  how  little  this  partiality  impressed 
the  church-members,  the  jar  tilted  the  tower  of 


50  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

die  edifice  to  such  an  extent  that  the  city  inter- 
posed and  ordered  it  braced  up.  The  money 
was  not  paid  by  the  congregation,  who  doubt- 
less had  a  reckless  idea  that  if  they  had  been 
saved  from  a  powder  explosion  they  surely 
would  not  be  smashed  by  a  church  steeple.  So 
the  city  made  the  repairs  and  took  over  the 
title  to  the  tower,  leaving  the  rest  of  the 
building  the  property  of  the  church.  Thus  a 
leaning  tower  has  been  straightened,  and  a 
mechanic's  lien  substituted,  and  so  it  stands  to 
this  day.  If  the  congregation  ever  moves  its 
building  it  will  leave  the  steeple  and  the  city  up 
in  the  air. 

There  is  in  Leiden  a  church  of  more  vital 
interest  to  Americans  than  St.  Ludwig's,  and 
that  is  St.  Peter's.  Here  for  fifteen  years  John 
Robinson  kept  the  light  of  religious  liberty 
burning  and  within  its  walls  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers  worshiped.  While  planning  to  follow 
his  flock  across  the  broad  Atlantic,  John  Rob- 
inson died  without  entering  the  Promised  Land 
of  America.  He  dearly  loved  theological  con- 
troversy and  often  crossed  swords  with  the 
followers  of  Arminius,  in  which  contests  both 


Leiden  5 1 

sides  always  asserted  that  "the  truth  had  a 
famous  victory." 

In  the  Heerensteg  the  printers  lived,  and 
Shoemakers  street  is  lined  on  both  sides  by  the 
old  residences  of  these  same  Fathers.  Opposite 
the  church  stands  a  building  which  bears  a 
memorial  plate  to  John  Robinson  and  which 
occupies  the  site  of  his  home.  But  it  was  not 
built  until  sixty  years  after  his  death.  The 
Dutch  have  reformed  and  deformed  the 
interior  of  St.  Peters  with  whitewash  and  while 
we  feel  that  there  are  still  enough  Madonnas 
on  exhibition  in  the  world  to  satisfy  our  per- 
sonal craving,  we  regret  the  methods  followed 
and  the  results  achieved.  Then,  after  the  out- 
raged feelings  of  Dutch  protestantism  had  been 
soothed  by  whitewash.  Napoleon  came  along 
and  calmed  his  republican  ire  by  knocking  the 
crowns  off  of  all  the  effigies  over  the  graves  of 
buried  nobility.  From  the  flat  gravestones, 
worn  by  the  feet  of  the  hosts  of  worshipers 
and  sight-seers,  he  caused  every  crown  to  be 
chiseled. 

The  Leiden  University  is  scattered  over  a 
section  of  the  city  and  has  no  impressive  groups 
of  buildings.  Its  library  contains  60,000  vol- 


52  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

times  and  14,000  manuscripts,  including  many 
rare  Oriental  ones.  Its  museum  of  natural 
history  is  one  of  the  finest  in  the  world.  Much 
of  the  instruction  is  now  imparted  in  the  homes 
of  the  professors.  Its  faculty  has  included 
such  names  as  Grotius,  Descartes,  Heinsius, 
Scaliger,  Bocerhaave,  Arminius  and  Gomarus. 
Goldsmith  and  Fielding  were  among  the 
Englishmen  who  attended  lectures  here. 

The  quaintest  thing  in  connection  with  the 
school  is  the  prison  for  scholastic  offenders. 
The  walls  are  covered  with  verses,  pasquinades 
and  cartoons  and  a  term  in  one  of  its  cells 
is  considered  essential  by  the  students  before 
they  can  graduate  with  a  clear  conscience. 

At  last  we  see  an  "Aansprecher."  He  is  in 
full  regalia  and  waiting  near  the  station  for  a 
funeral  party.  We  ask  the  guide  in  awed  whis- 
pers whether  so  stately  an  individual  would 
consent  to  pose  for  a  photograph.  The  guide 
said,  "If  you  pay  him."  We  questioned  whether 
we  could  afford  it.  He  looked  rather  expens- 
ive. So  we  asked  how  much  we  ought  to  pay 
for  the  accommodation.  "Not  over  ten  cents" 
said  our  mentor.  And  so  for  ten  cents  (Dutch), 
equivalent  to  four  cents  in  America,  we  secured 


AN   AANSPRECHER 


Leiden  53 

his  picture.  An  aansprecher  adds  to  the  duties 
of  an  undertaker  those  of  a  messenger  of  bad 
news  and  conveys  the  announcements  of  death 
to  friends  and  relatives.  We  saw  many  of  them 
later  in  our  trip  and  their  garb  of  gloom  with 
its  tall  black  hat  and  quantities  of  sombre  cord 
soon  failed  to  attract  our  attention. 

Like  all  Holland  towns,  Leiden  has  its  chari- 
table institutions  admirably  managed.  We 
drove  past  a  home  for  aged  men  and  women 
which  the  guide  told  us  was  a  refuge  for  "Old 
Orphans."  As  a  sample  of  guide-English  that 
will  answer  very  well. 


54  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


V 

Haarlem 

E  leave  Leiden  for  Haarlem  at  three 
o'clock.  It  takes  thirty-three  minutes 
for  the  trip.  President  Roosevelt's 
ideas  about  race  suicide  are  manifestly  heredit- 
ary, but  he  can  find  no  precedent  for  that  other 
idea  of  his  (spelling  reform)  in  the  land  of  his 
ancestors.  They  would  not  take  that  extra 
"a"  out  of  Haarlem  for  the  world. 

A  lost  dog  is  galloping  madly  up  and  down 
the  tracks  looking  vainly  for  his  master.  No 
wonder.  A  Dutch  cent  is  only  two-fifths  of 
an  American  one. 

On  the  train  again  through  a  country  of  gar- 
dens with  canals  for  fences.  We  pass  many 
barges  towed  by  men  and  boys  and  reach  our 
destination  on  time.  Haarlem  is  the  center  of 
the  tulip  bulb  industry,  and  earlier  in  the  year 
is  one  of  the  beauty  spots  of  Holland.  Holland- 
ers worship  flowers  and  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 


Haarlem  55 

tury  they  literally  went  crazy  over  tulips.  The 
bulbs  became  the  subject  of  speculation,  corners 
were  formed  and  all  of  the  usual  accompani- 
ments of  mad  gambling  were  witnessed ;  em- 
bezzlements, scandals,  suicides  and  wrecked 
ancestral  fortunes.  Finally  the  government  took 
a  hand  in  the  matter,  declared  all  bets  off  and 
stopped  the  thing.  Holland  has  queer  ideas 
on  the  subject  of  Frenzied  Finance  and  inter- 
poses governmental  restrictions  in  a  way  that 
would  be  highly  objectionable  in  some  parts  of 
the  United  States. 

A  great  many  of  these  beautiful  flowers  are 
grown  on  made  ground.  When  the  waters  were 
separated  and  the  dry  land  appeared,  parts  of 
Holland  were  left  unfinished.  Between  1833 
and  1877  she  has  increased  her  area  from  8,768 
to  12,731  square  miles.  A  growing  country. 
Before  1531  Haarlem  Meer  was  four  small 
lakes  with  four  villages  on  their  banks.  One 
hundred  years  later  there  had  been  a  run  on 
the  banks  and  the  four  villages  had  gone  into 
liquidation.  Another  two  centuries  pass,  the 
soil  is  squeezed  dry,  drained  and  diked  and  is 
now  farm  land.  Over  40,000  acres  were  thus 
added  to  Holland's  little  kingdom. 


56  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

No  wonder  that  the  dike  is  supreme  in  Hol- 
land. The  government  can  seize  anything  to 
strengthen  the  dikes  in  time  of  "water  snood" ; 
carts,  fences  and  even  houses. 

In  front  of  the  Groote  Kerk  is  a  bronze 
statue  of  Laurens  Coster,  who  did  not  invent 
printing  although  Holland  for  centuries  con- 
tended that  he  did. 

Within  the  Kerk  is  one  of  the  best  known 
organs  in  the  world.  For  over  a  century  it 
held  rank  as  the  largest  instrument  of  its  kind 
in  existence.  It  has  five  thousand  pipes  and 
sixty  stops.  Only  the  stops  were  working  the 
day  we  were  there.  Three  model  ships  are  sus- 
pended from  a  center  arch,  a  recognition  of 
Holland's  debt  to  that  best  of  servants  and 
worst  of  masters,  the  sea.  Not  only  has  she 
found  food  in  her  fisheries,  but  wealth  in  her 
commerce  and  victory  in  her  battles  on  the 
bosom  of  this  stern  old  mother,  and  doubtless 
the  unsleeping  vigilance  required  by  her  system ' 
of  dikes  has  done  more  to  develop  the  Holland 
character  along  right  lines  than  any  other 
influence.  In  the  interior  south  wall  a  cannon 
ball  protrudes,  a  mute  reminder  that  these 
streets  once  ran  blood  and  echoed  to  the  shrieks 


THE   HAARLEM  ORGAN 


Haarlem  57 

of  men,  women  and  children,  massacred  by 
Phillip  II. 's  soldiers  after  a  seven  months'  siege 
ended  only  by  the  promise  of  full  pardon  by 
Frederic,  a  worthy  son  of  his  father,  the  Duke 
of  Alva. 

This  siege  cost  the  Spaniards  ten  thousand 
men.  The  heroic  defenders  dwindled  from  four 
thousand  fighting  men  to  eighteen  hundred,  to 
which  force  was  added  an  effective  corps  of 
three  hundred  women  commanded  by  the  hero- 
ine of  the  siege,  Kenan  Hasselaer.  Even  in  their 
exhausted  condition  they  were  strong  enough 
to  make  terms  with  the  besiegers,  terms  which 
were  ruthlessly  broken  by  the  butchery  of  two 
thousand  persons,  and  the  drowning  of  three 
hundred  others,  tied  back  to  back  and  thrown 
into  Haarlem  Meer. 

We  took  a  drive  through  Frederic's  Park 
and  Haarlem  wood.  The  park  is  named  for 
the  son  of  William  the  Silent  and  together  with 
the  wood  forms  another  of  those  idyllic  dreams 
of  verdure  which  you  find  here  and  there  in 
Holland.  Holland  does  not  abound  in  timber 
but  what  she  has  she  guards  jealously  and  she 
is  adding  to  her  resources  yearly. 


58  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


E  caught  a  train  for  Amsterdam  at 
five-forty-eight,  and  in  twenty-two 
minutes  we  were  in  the  largest  city  in 
Holland.  As  we  left  the  train  we  snapped 
an  Amsterdam  orphan  whose  parti-colored  cos- 
tume, half  black  and  half  red,  unfortunately 
does  not  show  in  the  photograph.  It  is  not 
stated  for  which  parent  she  wears  black,  but  it 
is  probably  another  hit  at  father. 

At  the  Amstel  we  have  a  big  room,  with 
windows  through  which  we  have  an  excellent 
view  of  the  Canal.  Amsterdam  is  the  city 
whose  inhabitants  "dwell  in  the  tops  of  trees." 
Erasmus  in  his  venerable  joke  referred  to  the 
thousands  of  piles  which  form  the  foundations 
of  the  buildings.  Canals  divide  the  city  into 
ninety  islands  connected  by  nearly  three  hun- 
dred bridges. 

We  ate  in  the  small    dining-room.      Some 


Amsterdam  59 

friends  from  the  Statendam  joined  us  at  dinner, 
and  the  head-waiter  could  not  resist  the  oppor- 
tunity to  air  his  English.  He  remarked  as  he 
seated  us,  "It  is  heat  like  the  hell  in  the  large 
room."  You  must  admit  that  his  English 
needed  airing. 

After  dinner  we  found  a  vaudeville  theater 
where  the  admission  fee  of  thirty-two  cents 
included  a  drink.  We  divided  the  attention  of 
our  neighbors  with  the  show  by  declining  the 
drink  and  the  waiter  took  it.  The  entertainment 
was  fair,  being  more  Continental  than  Dutch, 
and  the  crowd  was  orderly  and  good  natured. 
We  went  home  before  the  cinematograph  and 
again  were  regarded  as  eccentric  Americans. 

The  lifts  in  this  country  are  the  same  old 
fraud.  In  the  Bellevue  at  The  Hague  there  was 
no  regular  attendant  and  a  push  button  when 
it  brought  anyone  was  as  liable  to  bring  the 
concierge  as  the  elevator  boy.  Here  in  the 
Amstel,  a  first-class  hotel,  we  were  forced  to 
use  the  freight  elevator,  the  other  being  out 
of  order,  and  we  were  three  minutes  in  ascend- 
ing two  floors.  I  do  not  mean  that  it  seemed 
like  three  minutes.  It  was  exactly  three  min- 
utes by  the  watch. 


60  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

The  bolt  on  our  hotel  door  is  on  the  jamb 
and  slides  into  the  door.  Our  beds  have  a 
sort  of  shelf  for  the  head  with  a  thin  veneer  of 
pillow.  The  feathers  have  been  taken  out  of 
the  pillows  to  stuff  the  mattress-like  bag  which 
we  put  over  us  at  night,  but  which  only  an 
expert  balancer  could  keep  over  him  for  sixty 
consecutive  minutes. 

Amsterdam  was  the  residuary  legatee  of 
Antwerp's  prosperity  after  the  "Antwerp 
Fury,"  in  the  sixteenth  century.  Drunken  and 
mutinous  Spanish  troops  burned  and  sacked 
Antwerp  and  she  lay  prostrate  for  years.  Am- 
sterdam, although  three  hundred  years  old  at 
the  time,  had  no  prospects  of  ever  being  a 
metropolis  prior  to  that  calamity. 

From  Amsterdam  came  many  customs  which 
have  become  part  of  our  national  life.  Among 
others  the  practice  of  moving  on  May  first  may 
be  mentioned.  It  is  also  interesting  to  note 
that  Lieut.  Hobson's  idea  of  blockading  a  har- 
bor originated  in  the  same  city.  Admiral 
Sonor  sunk  ships  loaded  with  stone  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Y  River  to  keep  the  Spanish 
Admiral  Bossu  out  of  the  Zuider  Zee.  As 
usual,  the  ruse  failed  and  as  usual,  it  was  bet- 


Amsterdam  61 


ter  for  the  blockaders  that  it  did  fail.  Bossu 
succeeded  in  entering  the  Zuider  Zee,  where  his 
fleet  was  destroyed,  and  Admiral  Cervera  broke 
out  of  Santiago  harbor  only  to  be  mowed  down 
by  the  guns  of  Sampson  and  Schley. 

The  Ryks  Museum  is  comprehensive  in  its 
scope.  It  has  a  large  collection  of  objects. 
These  include  the  uniforms  and  armament  of 
Holland  in  all  ages.  A  stack  of  stone  cannon 
balls  reminds  one  of  the  first  years  of  gun- 
powder. Many  models  of  locks,  dikes  and  dock 
yards  show  where  a  large  portion  of  Holland's 
brains  and  energy  are  expended  to  this  day. 
There  is  said  to  be  a  scheme  of  defence  in  Hol- 
land, centering  in  Amsterdam,  whereby  the 
whole  kingdom  can  be  flooded  and  the  bridges 
blown  up  should  such  desperate  steps  be  neces- 
sary. 

We  are  fond  of  admiring  the  heroism  or 
pitying  the  necessity  which  keeps  the  vine 
grower  of  Italy  at  work  on  the  sides  of  Vesuv- 
ius. In  Holland  a  danger  as  great  as  that  from 
earthquakes,  equally  powerful  and  more  con- 
stant, is  transformed  into  a  helper.  Eternal 
vigilance  is  the  price  of  dry  land.  If  Holland- 
ers had  settled  the  slopes  of  Vesuvius  they 
would  not  merely  have  braved  its  dangers. 


62  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

They  would  have  calked  the  smaller  cracks  and 
piped  heat  from  the  larger  ones  over  their 
farms  and  would  have  grown  grapes  and  vege- 
tables all  winter.  As  an  instance  of  their  thrift, 
there  are  many  farms  where  hard  peat  is  found 
underlying  a  layer  of  clay.  This  clay  is  care- 
fully put  on  one  side,  the  peat  is  removed,  the 
water  is  drained  off,  and  the  clay  mixed  with 
sand  is  restored,  making  an  excellent  soil.  Can 
you  beat  that  ? 

There  is  a  fine  gallery  of  paintings  in  the 
Ryks  Museum.  The  best  known,  and  strange  to 
say,  the  best  executed,  is  ''The  Night  Watch." 
by  Rembrandt.  The  management  has  been 
wise  enough  to  give  it  a  separate  room  and  it 
richly  merits  the  distinction.  In  the  handling 
of  light  and  shade  and  in  the  animation  of  the 
figures  it  is  a  masterpiece.  It  tells  a  story  and 
tells  it  plainly  and  you  do  not  need  to  be  told 
that  you  are  looking  at  one  of  the  triumphs  of 
art. 

Of  course,  "Susannah  and  the  Elders"  are 
among  those  present.  I  have  seen  so  many 
"Susannahs"  in  so  many  surprised  attitudes 
that  I  have  grown  cynical.  She  undoubtedly 
was  a  good  woman,  but  has  a  lot  of  fool  friends 


OLD    SUNKEN    GATE— AMSTERDAM 


Amsterdam  63 


among  the  painters.  Then  there  is  a  Vander 
Heist  banquet  wrought  out  so  well  that  you 
almost  fear  that  the  drop  of  lemon  juice  on  the 
oyster  shell  will  dry  up  and  leave  a  stain  on  the 
canvas.  Of. course,  there  are  anatomical  pic- 
tures as  a  result  of  the  success  of  Rembrandt's 
"Lesson  in  Anatomy,"  at  The  Hague.  They 
are  nightmares  on  canvas  that  stare  you  out  of 
countenance.  \Yell  done?  Yes.  That  is  the 
trouble.  The  better  they  are  done  the  worse 
they  look. 

Corporation  pictures  of  groups  of  burgomas- 
ters are  hung  here  and  there.  For  all  his 
phlegm,  your  old  Hollander  spent  a  good  deal 
of  money  on  portraits  of  himself. 

The  Stadhuis  has  on  its  rear  wall  a  group 
of  statuary.  Atlas  in  the  center  with  Tem- 
perance on  one  side  and  Vigilance  on  the  other. 
The  same  being  interpreted,  "If  you  can't  be 
temperate,  be  careful." 

The  Palace  cost  eight  million  florins  and  is 
severely  plain.  It  rests  on  fourteen  thousand 
piles  driven  seventy  feet  into  the  ground.  Some 
wag  named  it  "The  House  without  a  Door" 
and  called  the  Bourse  near  by  with  its  Grecian 
portico  "The  Door  without  a  House."  The 


64  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

square  in  front  of  the  Palace  is  called  "Dam." 
That's  all.  Just  plain  Dam.  Some  taxpayer 
looked  at  the  palace  and  at  the  bill  of  costs  and 
then  christened  the  square. 

The  queen  uses  the  Palace  one  week  each 
year,  and  then  has  fifty-one  weeks  in  which  to 
forget  its  exterior,  for  inside,  it  is  a  delight. 
Most  of  the  marble  flooring  is  covered  by  wood, 
during  the  absence  of  the  royal  family.  The 
furniture  dates  from  1808,  and  was  put  in  by 
Napoleon.  But  it  is  in  its  marble  carving  that 
the  Amsterdam  palace  excels  all  rivals.  One 
queer  idea  is  a  statue  called  "Silence,"  a  female 
figure.  Diana  has  a  prominent  place  in  one  of 
the  large  halls  and  her  weapons,  hunting  bag 
and  accoutrements,  are  wrought  out  in  stone 
as  delicately  as  lace  work.  In  every  room  and 
at  every  turn  your  eyes  are  delighted  by  mas- 
terpieces of  sculpture. 

The  old  butler  who  showed  us  through  was 
performing  his  duty  in  a  rather  perfunctory 
manner  when  a  strategist  in  our  party  mur- 
mured, "Oh,  this  is  not  a  bad  palace,  but  it  does 
not  compare  with  the  'House  in  the  Wood.' ' 
Presto!  How  his  manner  altered.  "Wait,  I 
will  show  you.  Did  the  'House  in  the  Wood' 


Amsterdam  65 

have  anything  like  that?"  From  that  on  he 
showed  us  the  best  that  he  had  in  stock,  and 
even  condescended  to  prevaricate  about  some 
of  his  exhibits. 

The  palace  was  originally  a  stadhuis  and 
many  of  the  carvings  are  allegorical.  The  door 
of  the  room  which  was  once  used  as  a  bank- 
ruptcy court  has  bas-reliefs  around  and  over  it 
depicting  Icarus'  fall,  while  rats  and  mice  gnaw 
at  documents  and  treasure  chests. 

The  throne  room  has  magnificent  chandeliers 
but  the  star  chamber  of  the  palace  is  the  audi- 
ence room.  It  is  one  hundred  feet  high  and 
fifty-seven  by  one  hundred  and  seventeen  feet 
surface  dimensions  unbroken  by  a  single 
column ;  supported  entirely  by  tax-payers. 

A  lady  asked  our  conductor  to  show  us  the 
queen's  bed-room,  but  he  said,  "It  is  noding.  De 
queen  sleeps  choost  like  anoder  man." 

The  women  of  Holland  conduct  the  shops 
and  are  much  finer  looking  than  the  men.  In 
one  post  card  store  was  exhibited  a  book  called 
"La  Jungle ;  Les.Empoisonneurs  de  Chicago." 

We  had  a  stupid  guide  during  part  of  one 
day.  He  pointed  out  automobiles  and  took  us 
a  long  drive  to  show  us  a  modern  turn-bridge. 


66  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

lie  insisted  on  telling  us  all  about  the  San 
Francisco  earthquake  and  seemed  prouder  of 
his  smattering  of  American  news  than  of  his 
beautiful  city.  Finally,  he  laid  the  last  straw 
on  my  back.  We  wished  to  return  to  the 
hotel  for  a  photographic  film,  and  told  him  our 
desire.  He  issued  orders  to  the  coachman.  The 
carriage  was  driven  several  blocks  and  stopped. 
I  asked  him  why  he  stopped  at  that  point.  He 
gave  me  elaborate  directions  for  walking  the 
two  or  three  blocks  which  intervened  between 
us  and  the  hotel.  As  rain  was  falling,  I  indig- 
nantly ordered  the  driver  to  take  us  there  and 
we  settled  with  our  guide  and  went  on  our 
unimpeded  way. 

As  it  was  raining  quite  hard  by  this  time  we 
drove  to  a  diamond-cutting  establishment  and 
watched  the  process  by  which  a  dull,  unattrac- 
tive pebble  is  rubbed  and  scraped  until  it  be- 
comes a  brilliant  gem.  \Ve  priced  a  few  unset 
diamonds.  Among  others  was  a  magnificent 
bluish  white  stone  for  which  the  proprietor 
wanted  seven  thousand  dollars.  It  was  in  a 
case  by  itself,  set  apart  from  the  common  herd 
like  Rembrandt's  "Night  Watch."  We  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  tearing  the  painting 


Amsterdam  67 

from  its  frame  and  hiding  it  in  a  cellar  as  of 
taking  that  beautiful  stone  from  where  all 
could  see  and  enjoy  it  and  locking  it  in  a 
private  casket.  We  grew  real  noble  and 
unselfish  over  the  matter  and  while  the  sales- 
man was  disappointed,  he  was  plainly  awed  by 
the  grand  stand  we  took.  And  that  was  all  we 
took,  except  several  looks  at  the  heaps  of  gems 
around  us. 

Having  exhausted  the  possibilities  of  the 
diamond-cutting  establishment  as  a  place  of 
amusement,  we  returned  to  the  sidewalk,  and 
finding  the  weather  still  heavy,  went  back  to 
the  hotel,  and  I  started  in  search  of  a  bar- 
ber-shop. My  barber  was  a  Frenchman.  His 
shop  contained  three  chairs.  They  were  of  the 
ordinary  cane-seated  variety,  but  with  an  ad- 
justable head-piece  for  stretching  the  victim, 
similar  to  those  exhibited  in  the  old  prison  at 
The  Hague.  The  barbers  wore  white  coats  of 
Prince  Albert  length  and  I  was  invested  in  a 
Mother  Hubbard  with  full-length  sleeves  and 
buttons  down  the  back.  The  work  was  well 
and  quickly  done,  for  a  price  about  one-half  of 
home  rates.  How  much  more  my  bill  would 
have  been  had  I  not  refused  the  half  dozen 


68  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

brands  of  perfume,  pomade,  and  brillantine 
urged  on  me,  I  am  unable  to  say. 

Having  prolonged  my  stay  in  the  barber- 
shop as  long  as  possible,  let  me  beg  you  to 
accompany  me  back  to  our  hotel  room.  For 
if  you  are  to  share  our  travels,  you  must  not  be 
deceived  into  thinking  there  are  no  "gray  days" 
in  Holland.  Let  us  sit  at  our  window  and 
gaze  out  at  leaden  skies  and  scurrying  pedes- 
trians. It  is  too  drizzly  to  walk  and  too  hazy 
for  photographs,  so  eyes  and  pencil  must  gather 
and  transmit  to  you  when  legs  and  camera 
refuse  to  act. 

Amsterdam's  streets  and  canals  are  in  con- 
centric circles  like  an  onion-peel,  and  the 
resemblance  to  an  onion  does  not  cease  with 
the  formation. 

At  our  feet  is  the  intersection  of  Amstel  and 
Sorphati  streets.  The  latter  crosses  the  canal  by 
a  bridge  and  leads  to  the  Exposition  building, 
a  cheap  affair  of  glass  and  corrugated  iron,  big 
enough  and  ugly  enough  for  any  city  in  the 
United  States.  Its  exterior  is  plastered  with 
advertisements  of  vermouth,  cocoa,  and  other 
beverages. 

The  trolleys  are  following  the  excellent  num- 


Amsterdam  69 


eral  system  mentioned  before  and  share  the 
streets  with  the  push  carts.  Following  the  trol- 
ley car  is  a  wagon  painted  white,  immaculately 
clean  and  labeled  "Ijs  Handel,"  which  means 
that  the  ice  man  is  abroad.  The  Hollander  is 
very  fond  of  "j's."  Wherever  there  is  room 
every  "i"  is  followed  by  a  "j."  If  Belgium  is 
the  country  of  Rubens,  Holland  is  certainly  the 
country  of  "j's." 

Following  the  ice  wagon  are  more  push 
carts  and  a  dozen  cyclists.  Under  the  bridge 
glide  barges  and  house-boats  and  gasoline 
launches.  Not  many  dogs  are  employed  in 
hauling  in  Amsterdam.  The  city  is  too  big  and 
busy  for  that.  The  dogs  were  freed  by  law 
from  the  labor  of  towing  boats  thirty  or  forty 
years  ago.  Women  and  children  took  their 
places. 

Amsterdam  has  six  hundred  thousand  people, 
seventy  thousand  of  whom  are  Jews.  We  drove 
through  the  Jewish  quarter  today.  It  is  the 
oldest  part  of  the  city  and  it  is  as  crowded  as 
their  facial  peculiarities  will  admit.  Their 
noses  seem  to  thrive  by  what  they  feed  upon 
and  the  largest  ones  are  in  evidence  in  neigh- 
borhoods where  most  people  would  prefer  not 


70  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

to  have  any.  The  district  abounds  in  markets 
and  booths  rather  than  stores. 

We  lunched  on  pannekoek  and  spiegelieren, 
which  are  nothing  worse  than  pan  cakes  and 
eggs.  For  a  small  country  to  crowd  itself  with 
such  words  seems  foolish.  In  Rotterdam  they 
have  a  philosophical  society  whose  motto  is 
''Verschiedenbeit  an  Overrenstemmingv'  It 
means,  "Variety  and  Harmony."  To  American 
eyes  it  is  much  more  suggestive  of  variety  than 
harmony. 

We  tramped  over  much  of  the  city  trying  to 
find  a  piece  of  leather  or  a  pair  of  insoles.  We 
finally  succeeded.  The  fresh  insight  it  gave 
us  into  Dutch  courtesy  repaid  the  trouble.  They 
seemed  more  depressed  over  their  -inability  to 
supply  us  than  we  were  but  were  always  pleas- 
ant and  gave  us  a  cheerful  "Good  day"  when 
we  left  their  shops.  It  is  the  universal  cus- 
tom here  and  in  Belgium  to  lift  your  hat  to  the 
clerk  when  you  enter  a  store,  and  when  you 
leave  it.  One  jeweler  from  whom  we  had  pur- 
chased nothing  wrote  out  the  name  and  address 
of  a  competitor  who  he  thought  could  accom- 
modate us. 

After  dinner  we  went  to  a  concert  where  we 


Amsterdam  71 


listened  to  a  good  orchestra  render  classical 
music.  The  admission  charge  was  fourteen 
cents  and  included  a  cup  of  excellent  coffee. 

On  the  morning  of  our  last  day  in  Amster- 
dam \ve  moved  to  a  hotel  nearer  the  depot  in 
order  to  get  an  early  start  on  our  tour  of  the 
small  towns.  "\Ye  will  visit  five  villages  on 
a  circular  excursion  by  tram,  train  and  trek- 
schuyt. 

On  our  way  to  the  station  we  snapped  the 
Crying  Tower.  We  passed  it  yesterday  but 
the  weather  was  weeping  too  hard  for  kodak- 
ing. This  ancient  tower  is  on  the  bank  of  the 
canal  and  formerly  marked  the  point  of  depar- 
ture of  sea-going  vessels.  It  witnessed  thou- 
sands of  tearful  partings  in  days  when  crossing 
the  ocean  was  no  mere  holiday  jaunt,  hence  its 
name. 


72  Three  Weeks  /;/  Holland 


VII 

A  Zuider  Zee  Excursion 

EAR  the  station  we  went  aboard  a  small 
launch  which  took  us  to  the  point  of 
departure  of  the  Broek  (pronounced 
broke)  train.  We  are  surrounded  by  English 
tourists. 

The  Dutch  have  a  dry  sense  of  humor.  Their 
new  church  in  Amsterdam  was  built  in  1408. 
I  asked  the  concierge  if  he  thought  the  plas- 
tering thoroughly  dry.  They  also  have  an  ex- 
aggerated notion  of  the  speed  of  an  American 
pedestrian.  If  they  tell  you  that  anything  is 
within  fifteen  minutes'  walk,  and  you  reach  it 
in  half  an  hour,  you  have  probably  broken  a 
record. 

Our  launch  starts  and  in  two  minutes  the 
captain  cries  "Hats  off"  for  a  low  bridge.  B. 
says  that  I  do  not  need  to  stoop  so  much,  but 
I  would  rather  miss  it  a  foot  than  hit  it  an 
inch.  Another  bob  of  our  heads  and  we  pass 


A  Zuider  Zee  Excursion  73 

into  the  Y  (pronounced  I)  and  across  it  to 
the  train.  Climbing  aboard,  we  are  soon  in 
the  open  country  with  a  two-story  canal  on  one 
side,  and  a  reservoir  eight  feet  above  us  on  the 
other.  We  pass  miles  of  green  pasture  where 
black  and  white  cows  graze  by  the  side  of  silent 
canals  and  their  reflections  as  they  ruminate 
make  you  frantic  to  stop  the  train  for  a  pic- 
ture. Windmills  wave  a  welcome  to  you  on 
every  hand. 

Brcek  is  a  "show"  place  with  a  guide  book 
reputation  for  cleanliness.  Do  not  misunder- 
stand me.  Broek  is  clean.  It  is  clean  Broek. 
But  so  are  dozens  of  other  Holland  villages. 
We  walked  down  its  brick-paved  streets  and 
followed  their  spotless  courses  between  rows  of 
dainty  cottages  set  in  little  hand-made  yards 
with  here  and  there  a  group  of  statuary  or  a 
tiny  fountain.  Our  walk  terminated  at  a  model 
cheese  dairy.  Here  we  were  conducted  through 
the  spick  and  span  residence  portion  of  the 
house  to  the  still  neater  part  reserved  for  the 
cows.  The  cow  house  is  divided  into  stalls. 
Each  stall  has  a  glass  window,  in  front  of 
which  is  draped  a  lace  curtain.  The  floor  is 
covered  with  oil  cloth.  Loops  are  hung 


74  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

from  the  ceiling  from  which  the  cows' 
tails  are  suspended  during  the  milking  process. 
A  misplaced  switch  might  do  a  great  deal  of 
damage  at  a  critical  moment.  There  is  a  sus- 
piciously large  pump  in  the  cow  parlor.  The 
hay  is  stored  in  the  middle  of  the  house.  The 
milking  is  done  at  four  in  the  morning.  Even 
the  cream  rises  early  in  Holland.  It  is  mixed 
with  rennet  and  churned  in  a  large  mixer.  The 
whey  is  drained  off  and  fed  to  the  pigs,  and 
the  cheese  is  put  into  earthenware  moulds  and 
kept  under  pressure  four  hours.  It  is  then 
placed  in  a  salt  mixture  for  four  days  and 
allowed  to  dry  for  five  or  six  weeks  before 
marketing.  The  red  Edam  cheese, best  known 
in  America, is  dipped  into  a  dye  vat  to  give  it 
the  required  color.  "We  visited  the  living  rooms 
and  drank  milk  and  were  shown  the  way  the 
bipeds  live.  The  beds  are  in  recesses  in  the 
walls  and  are  closed  by  doors  like  a  cupboard. 
Above  the  bed  is  an  upper  berth  for  the  baby 
and  it  is  seldom  without  an  occupant.  Every- 
thing is  absolutely  clean. 

The  old  church  has  an  ebony  pulpit  made  in 
1685,  f°r  Broek  was  once  the  home  of  wealth. 
The  quaint  old  foot-warmers  were  piled  in  one 


A   Zuider  Zee  Excursion  75 

corner.  Winters  are  cold  in  Holland  and 
churches  are  insufficiently  heated.  Each  woman 
is  provided  with  a  foot-stove,  in  which  peat  is 
burned. 

We  return  to  our  train  and  depart  for  Mon- 
nikendam.  This  is  a  quaint  old  village.  Half 
of  the  inhabitants  are  asleep  and  the  other 
half  are  afraid  of  awakening  them.  It  boasts 
of  a  sixteenth  century  tower  and  a  still  older 
church.  Its  houses  totter  with  age  and  it  has, 
of  course,  a  picturesque  cheese  market.  Most 
of  these  old  towns  of  the  Zuider  Zee  are  too 
large  for  their  present  population,  and  have 
public  buildings  far  beyond  their  present  needs. 
Their  tarnished  civil  finery  hangs  on  their 
shrunken  frames  and  exaggerates  their  present 
poverty  and  forlornness.  Spoiled  by  tourists 
these  people  are  eager  for  opportunities  to  pose 
for  pennies  in  front  of  our  camera  in  a  way 
that  would  earn  them  the  scorn  of  the  sturdy 
fisherfolk  of  Scheveningen. 

We  met  a  charming  French  family  and  re- 
mained with  them  through  the  balance  of  the 
day.  The  husband  and  father  was  burned  out 
by  the  Chicago  fire  of  1871  and  returned  to 
France,  where  he  has  prospered.  But  all  of  his 


76  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

old  associates  in  the  United  States  are  million- 
aires, he  said.  He  was  very  gentle  in  his 
treatment  of  our  French  accent  and  won  our 
hearts.  The  daughter  spoke  French  and 
English,  but  the  mother  spoke  nothing  but 
French.  She  asked  us  why  we  had  not  bought 
a  cheese  to  take  to  America.  We  pleaded  in 
extenuation  the  amount  of  luggage  with  which 
we  were  already  burdened.  She  said  with  a 
comical  shrug,  "But  in  a  few  days  the  cheese 
would  help  you  carry  the  others." 

We  took  a  steamer  for  Marken,  a  half-'iour's 
ride  on  the  Zuider  Zee.  This  body  of  water 
is  a  mere  infant  among  seas.  It  was  formed  in 
1300,  when  the  North  Sea,  in  re-making  its 
bed,  threw  part  of  the  covering  over  several 
towns  and  villages  and  re-arranged  the  geog- 
raphy of  Holland.  It  is  large  superficially,  but 
not  deep.  Plans  are  being  made  to  drain  it 
and  re-convert  it  into  pasture  and  peat  land. 

Marken  is  another  place  that  has  been  spoiled 
into  self-consciousness  by  too  much  attention. 
Old  customs  and  costumes  are  retained  on  this 
tiny  island,  but  you  feel  that  their  preservation 
is  a  matter  of  revenue  and  not  reverence.  The 
children  beg  for  pennies,  and  the  women 


A  Zuider  Zee  Excursion  77 

clamor  for  positions  in  front  of  the  camera. 
The  men  are  sturdy  fellows,  but  except  on  Sun- 
days are  not  on  the  island.  The  few  whom  we 
saw  did  not  seem  to  approve  of  the  action  of 
the  women  and  children,  and  refused  all 
requests  to  pose  for  photographs.  From  early 
Monday  morning  until  late  Saturday  night  they 
fish  in  the  shallow  waters  of  the  Zuider  Zee. 
That  name  means  South  Sea,  and  is  pro- 
nounced almost  to  rhyme  with  chowder. 

There  are  five  or  six  thousand  people  on 
the  island,  and  there  has  been  little  admixture 
of  blood  from  the  main  land  for  centuries.  Only 
the  preacher  and  schoolmaster  are  aliens.  This 
tiny  little  island  has  governed  itself  for  many 
generations  without  interference  from  the  rul- 
ers of  Holland.  Possibly  its  barrenness  has 
as  much  to  do  with  its  independence  as  has 
its  bravery.  It  offers  few  attractions  to  the 
tax  collector. 

All  of  the  females  from  three  years  of  age 
to  a  hundred  dress  alike.  Their  hempen  colored 
hair,  burned  by  the  sun,  is  cut  square  across  the 
forehead  in  a  bang  like  a  whitewash  brush. 
Over  this  is  a  tight  cap,  from  underneath  which 
protrude  two  ropy-looking  curls  which  are 


Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


brought  over  the  shoulders  and  hang  in  front 
of  the  body  on  opposite  sides  of  the  face.  The 
cap  and  waist  are  of  the  red  and  yellow  pat- 
tern, a  cross  between  a  bandana  handkerchief 
and  a  Vatican  Swiss  guard.  Their  hips  are 
padded  from  the  moment  they  can  toddle. 

Marken  is  not  diked  to  amount  to  anything 
and  many  of  the  houses  are  built  on  stilts. 
They  are  all  of  wood  except  the  pastor's  resi- 
dence, which  is  stone.  The  interiors  are  scrupu- 
lously neat.  The  rules  of  good  Marken  society 
require  the  wooden  shoes  to  be  kicked  off  and 
left  outside  the  house.  You  will  see  rows  of 
them  at  thresholds  as  you  walk  along  the 
streets. 

We  entered  the  modest  little  Calvinist 
church.  Modest  as  it  is,  and  meager  as  are  its 
furnishings,  it  is  orthodox  in  one  respect.  It 
has  a  church  debt  and  a  box  is  placed  near  the 
door  for  the  reception  of  contributions.  It 
must  be  slow  work  raising  funds  in  that  com- 
munity. Most  of  the  money  comes  from  tour- 
ists, and  comes  rather  slowly,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed. After  several  centuries  of  endeavor, 
the  debt  is  now  two  thousand  five  hundred  dol- 


A  Zuicler  Zee  Excursion  79 

lars,  on  a  building  which  could  be  duplicated 
for  five  thousand  dollars. 

We  leave  Marken  for  Volendam  on  the  good 
launch,  "President  Roosevelt."  It  is  cold  on 
the  water.  We  abandon  the  aristocratic  awn- 
ing of  the  first  cabin  and  emerge  into  the  sun- 
shine of  the  second  class  at  the  other  end  of 
the  boat.  There  are  fishing  smacks  in  every 
direction. 

Volendam  is  the  resort  of  painters  and  mine 
host  of  the  Hotel  Spaander  is  their  patron 
saint.  Many  a  poor  artist  has  been  allowed  to 
partake  of  his  generous  hospitality  and  to  pay 
in  promises,  maturing  when  his  ship  should 
come  in.  And  notwithstanding  the  hundreds 
of  ships  that  do  come  into  Volendam  so  few  of 
them  belong  to  artists  that  his  only  pay  in 
many  cases  takes  the  form  of  pictures.  And 
so  his  hotel  is*  filled  with  paintings,  some  of 
them  good,  and  all  of  them  interesting.  Some 
are  on  canvas  and  others  are  on  the  plastered 
walls.  Few  artists  who  have  studied  abroad 
have  failed  to  visit  Hotel  Spaander,  and  many 
whose  ships  have  come  in  laden  with  fame  and 
gold  hung  their  earlier  efforts  on  its  walls. 

We  eat  an  excellent  lunch  and  add  ourselves 


8o  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

to  the  list  of  those  who  remember  this  spot 
with  gratitude.  Our  meal  is  served  on  the 
piazza  overlooking  the  water.  A  fisherman  in 
quaint  costume  is  posing  on  the  pier,  while  in 
front  of  him  an  artist  sits  at  his  easel  trans- 
ferring his  mortal  outlines  to  immortal  canvas. 
The  waitresses,  daughters  of  mine  host,  to 
whom  this  bunch  of  hungry  tourists  is  no  holi- 
day picture,  are  punching  our  tickets,  for  this 
meal  is  a  part  of  the  day's  entertainment,  for 
which  the  total  charge  is  one  dollar  and  eighty 
cents  per  person,  first-class. 

And  now  for  Edam  on  a  trekschuyt  towed 
by  a  man  and  kept  away -from  the  bank  by  an- 
other man  with  a  pole.  It  is  not  rapid  but  it 
is  restful  to  watch  them  work.  We  study  the 
man  ahead,  with  his  harness  over  his  breast 
and  shoulders,  as  he  bends  to  his  work.  Towing 
twenty  tourists  who  have  lunched  table  d'hote 
at  the  Spaander  is  no  light  task,  and  as  you 
watch  his  efforts  something  strangely  familiar 
in  his  gait  strikes  you.  You  are  puzzled.  You 
have  never  seen  a  man  towing  a  boat  at  home, 
and  yet  you  have  seen  people  walk  exactly  like 
that.  Of  course!  How  stupid  of  you  not  to 
see  it  at  once.  Certain  young  ladies  in  the 


A  Zuicler  Zee  Excursion  81 

United  States  have  that  same  bend,  that  same 
swing  of  the  arms  back  of  the  hips.  And  you 
realize  with  mental  apologies  that  what  you 
have  considered  an  affectation  with  them  is 
simply  a  case -of  unconscious  atavistic  reversion 
to  a  canal  boat  ancestry. 

We  are  passing  an  interesting  duck  farm. 
The  duck  pens  have  threads  strung  across  the 
top,  about  a  yard  apart  and  this  palpable  bluff 
actually  keeps  those  ducks  from  attempting  to 
fly  over  the  low  boundaries  of  their  prisons. 
Henceforth  as  a  symbol  of  stupidity,  the  duck 
ranks  with  the  goose,  in  my  estimation. 

We  have  not  seen  a  field  of  grain  in  Hol- 
land. All  the  land  seems  to  be  devoted  to  pas- 
ture or  to  vegetable  and  flower  gardens.  Our 
men  tow  us  along  at  ordinary  walking  speed 
and  seem  to  notice  the  sun's  rays  less  than  we 
on  the  boat.  In  half  an  hour  we  are  in  Edam, 
the  town  which  gives  the  name  to  the  best- 
known  cheese  in  Holland,  but  which,  of  course, 
produces  only  a  small  portion  thereof. 

We  simply  walk  through  Edam  amid  the  joy- 
ful acclaim  of  the  villagers.  "Good  bye"  and 
"Bon  jour"  represent  their  polyglot  acquire- 
ments and  they  try  both  on  each  member  of  the 


82  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

party.  It  does  not  sound  very  hospitable  to  be 
welcomed  with  a  "Good  bye,"  but,  perhaps  it 
will  suggest  better  than  volumes  the  speed  with 
which  tourists  are  jerked  through  their  streets. 
At  any  rate  we  impart  quite  as  much  pleasure  as 
we  receive  and  are  as  great  curios  to  the  Hol- 
landers as  they  are  to  us.  Even  the  old  houses 
seem  to  stoop  and  peer  at  us  through  their  win- 
dow glasses  as  we  pass  along.  Perhaps  they 
have  been  pulled  over  by  the  loads  which  are 
drawn  up  by  the  cranes  which  project  below 
every  gable. 


Zaandam  and  Zaandyk  83 


VIII 

Zaandam  and  Zaandyk 

ARLY  the  next  morning  our  hotel  por- 
ter carries  our  suit  cases  to  the  depot 
and  we  bid  farewell  to  Amsterdam, 
sometimes  called  the  " Venice  of  Holland,"  but 
Venetian  only  in  mosquitos.  In  twelve  minutes 
we  reached  Zaandam.  It  was  8 102  and  no  one 
was  up  so  we  struck  out  on  foot  for  the  house 
of  Peter  the  Great.  A  long  walk  brought  us  to 
our  destination.  The  house  was  occupied  by 
him  in  1697  for  a  short  time.  It  is  now  the  prop- 
erty of  the  Russian  government  and  has  been 
enclosed  by  another  building,  and  not  any  too 
soon.  The  high  water  caused  by  the  break- 
ing of  a  dike  almost  carried  it  off  in  1825. 
Since  then  it  has  been  well  taken  care  of.  This 
is  the  birth  place  of  the  Russian  navy,  which 
lived  over  two  hundred  years  and  was  buried 
at  sea.  The  house  looks  pretty  wobbly  but  it 
outlasted  the  navy.  It  was  a  hundred  years 


84  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

old  when  Peter  moved  in.  Many  memorials 
adorn  the  walls.  The  original  bed  and  table 
are  preserved.  A  full  length  portrait  of  Peter 
hangs  in  one  room.  It  represents  him  at  the 
age  of  twenty-five,  when  he  was  ransacking  all 
Europe  for  ideas  which  he  could  take  home  to 
Russia.  It  shows  him  as  he  was,  a  creature  of 
unbounded  animal  energy  and  courage,  a  man 
who,  when  whipped,  swore  that  he  would  keep 
on  fighting  until  his  enemies  had  taught  him 
how  to  whip  them.  He  founded  St.  Petersburg 
in  1703  and  spent  millions  on  internal  improve- 
ments. These  millions  were  partly  raised  by 
taxes  levied  on  beards  and  the  skirts  of  the 
Tartars'  coats.  His  subjects  willingly  paid  the 
tax  rather  than  surrender  either. 

The  present  Czar  once  slept  all  night  in 
Peter's  bed,  but  it  did  not  take.  The  old  lady 
in  charge  has  been  there  thirty-eight  years,  hav- 
ing inherited  the  job  from  her  mother.  We 
were  admitted  to  the  attic,  which  is  not  usually 
open  to  visitors.  But  kind  smiles  and  a 
double  tip  won  the  heart  of  the  custodian.  She 
presented  us  with  some  post  cards  and  two  red 
roses  grown  in  Peter's  yard.  Sight-seers  can 


Zaandam  and  Zaandyk  85 

thank  Anna  Paulowna  for  much  of  the  preser- 
vation of  this  interesting  house.  She  was  a 
Russian  princess,  a  descendant  of  Peter,  and 
married  William  II.  of  Holland. 

It  rained  most  of  the  time  we  were  in  Peter's 
house.  Baedeker  says  that  the  reason  Peter 
did  not  stay  longer  in  Zaandam  was  that  he 
was  annoyed  by  the  curiosity  of  the  natives 
when  his  identity  was  discovered,  but  we  think 
it  was  on  account  of  the  weather. 

However,  it  cleared  a  bit  and  we  took  a 
carriage  drive  through  Zaandam  and  Zaandyk. 
We  drove  for  three  quarters  of  a  mile  along  a 
twelve-foot  street  flanked  by  a  sidewalk  vary- 
ing from  nothing  to  three  feet  in  width.  A 
canal  is  on  one  side  of  us  and  stores  on  the 
other.  Across  the  ten-foot  canal  are  little  resi- 
dences, each  with  its  tiny  drawbridge.  We  have 
glimpses  of  the  Zaan  River  on  our  right 
between  the  stores.  Our  drive  terminates  at 
a  windmill  which  is  grinding  corn  and  oil-cake. 
We  climb  up  several  dusty  ladders  and  the  pro- 
prietor tells  us  that  his  raw  material  all  comes 
from  America.  From  the  little  gallery  midway 
can  be  seen  thirty  windmills  in  varying  stages 


86  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

of  activity.  The  mills  are  so  constructed  that 
the  part  which  bears  the  arms  can  be  tinned  to 
catch  the  breeze.  The  arms  are  of  lattice  work 
and  when  the  breeze  is  light,  canvas  is  stretched 
over  part  or  all  of  the  latticed  surface  thus 
increasing  the  wind  pressure.  Many  mills 
have  small  models  like  weather  vanes  to  indi- 
cate the  direction  of  the  wind  for  the  informa- 
tion of  the  miller  in  adjusting  his  apparatus. 

We  were  shown  courteously  through  the 
home  which  nestles  at  the  foot  of  the  mill  and 
saw  the  same  shining  neatness  that  you  find  in 
every  Dutch  abode. 

We  passed  the  scene  of  a  conflagration  on 
our  return.  A  long  hose  was  stretched  along 
the  bank  of  the  canal  and  water  was  being 
forced  into  it  by  half  a  dozen  men  operating 
a  hand-pump.  It  was  pretty  hard  work  as  the 
hose  was  punctured  and  spouted  merrily  every 
ten  feet.  Small  boys  tried  to  hold  the  cracks 
shut  with  little  success  and  it  looked  as  though 
the  only  dry  place  along  that  entire  hose  length 
was  at  the  nozzle. 

Our  street  was  so  narrow  that  in  avoiding  a 
loaded  push-cart  on  one  side  of  it  we  struck  an 


Zaandam  and  Zaandyk  87 

empty  one  on  the  other  and  sent  it  upside  down 
into  the  canal.  Our  driver  never  stopped  but 
two  or  three  men  rescued  the  cart  without  ex- 
hibiting anger  or  surprise  at  the  accident.  Pos- 
sibly they  had  heard  about  automobiles  and 
were  glad  to  escape  with  their  lives. 


Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


IX 

Helder 

OW  we  take  our  longest  railroad  jour- 
ney up  to  the  present  time.    It  requires 
an  hour  and  nineteen  minutes  to  go  to 
Helder,  "the  Gibraltar  of  the  North  Sea." 

This  country  is  full  of  babies  and  very  old 
people.  Apparently  deaths  are  rare  and  births 
are  plentiful.  Hence,  colonization  is  neces- 
sary to  take  care  of  the  surplus  population  now 
that  the  Spanish  Inquisition  is  no  more;  and 
Hollanders  have  always  been  the  best  of  col- 
onizers. 

We  invaded  a  first-class  compartment  hold- 
ing "eight  personen,"  and  although  there  were 
six  people  already  in  it  and  we  had  a  great 
quantity  of  luggage,  no  one  frowned  or  made 
a  face  at  us.  Our  only  reason  for  traveling 
"eerste  klasse"  is  that  we  have  considerable 
hand  luggage  and  are  less  liable  to  be  interna- 
tional nuisances  than  in  the  more  crowded 


Helder  89 

second-class  compartments.  For  travelers  who 
carry  trunks  the  second-class  accommodations 
are  much  cheaper  and  the  surroundings  are  just 
as  desirable. 

Some  of  the  ticket  windows  have  an  ingen- 
ious shelf  on  which  you  place  your  money.  The 
same  motion  that  draws  the  money  toward  the 
ticket  seller  slides  your  ticket  to  you  on  a 
lower  shelf. 

Our  train  takes  us  through  Alkmaar,  to 
which  place  we  will  return  this  evening  and 
spend  the  night  in  order  to  be  there  on  Friday, 
the  day  of  the  cheese  market.  Five  of  our 
eight  companions  got  off  at  Alkmaar  and  gave 
us  room  in  which  to  stretch  out.  Polite  people 
always  tender  you  the  seat  with  its  back  to 
the  engine,  in  Europe,  in  order  that  you  may 
escape  some  of  the  cinders  if  the  window  is 
open. 

Leaving  Alkmaar  we  pass  miles  of  market 
gardens  largely  given  over  to  green  and  purple 
cabbages,  the  most  popular  vegetable  in  Hol- 
land. The  one  least  liked  is  the  leek. 

There  are  few  bare-footed  children,  but  a 
great  many  in  woolen  stockings  and  wooden 
shoes.  They  clatter  after  your  carriage  and 


90  Three  \Yeeks  in  Holland 

hang  on  behind.  Like  children,  all  the  world 
over,  if  they  find  you  do  not  care,  they  soon 
leave  you  for  some  more  irascible  and,  to  them, 
more  interesting  tourists. 

The  narrow  sidewalks,  together  with  the 
clean  pavements,  combine  to  make  people  walk 
in  the  streets.  Once  our  cabby  had  to  drive 
on  the  sidewalk  to  avoid  the  pedestrians. 

I  am  so  fond  of  Hollanders  that  I  dislike  to 
record  their  pettiness  in  the  matter  of  cab 
charges.  No  rate  arranged  for  in  advance  is 
binding  and  after  you  have  overpaid  them 
fifty  per  cent  they  hold  out  their  hand  for  a 
pourboire.  And  while  I  am  in  a  critical  mood, 
I  may  as  well  state  that  much  of  their  art  to 
our  hasty  observation  indicates  that  while  they 
are  as  a  nation  singularly  free  from  many  vices, 
yet  they  are  coarse  and  material  and  blunt  in 
their  attitude  toward  the  refinements  of  life. 

About  the  most  dreary  sight  in  Holland  is  a 
sheep  herder's  hut.  It  is  about  as  big  as  a 
dog  kennel  but  not  so  well  built,  being  made  of 
thatch  that  soaks  up  the  falling  rain  so  that 
it  continues  raining  inside  for  several  days 
after  it  has  ceased  outside. 

Our  waiter  at  Helder  commenced  to  tell  us 


Helder  91 

the  menu  in  very  fair  English,  but  I  never  can 
let  well  enough  alone.  I  said,  "Have  you  no 
carte  dc  jour?"  "Yes,  please." 

He  was  gone  five  minutes  and  returned  with 
one  written  by  himself  in  pencil.  We  are  too 
early  for  the  regular  luncheon  but  we  are  ush- 
ered into  the  "Eetzaal,"  where  a  table  is  spread 
for  us  and  a  repast  prepared.  That  is  why 
Holland  is  so  restful.  Nothing  is  impossible. 
Nothing  is  even  difficult  if  mynheer  desires  it. 

This  is  the  country  of  rosy  cheeks.  Babies, 
girls,  women  and  old  crones,  all  have  blotches 
of  red  and  look  the  picture  of  health.  We  just 
passed  an  old  woman  whose  face  looked  like 
an  old  cranberry,  it  was  so  round  and  red. 

There  are  thirty  thousand  children  who  live 
on  the  canals  and  this  floating  population  offers 
a  serious  obstacle  to  compulsory  education. 

After  lunch  we  drove  out  to  the  harbor  and 
past  the  naval  school  and  training  ship.  The 
officers'  quarters  were  built  by  Napoleon,  who 
expended  a  great  deal  of  labor  in  this  neigh- 
borhood. Realizing  its  strategic  importance  at 
the  entrance  to  the  Zuider  Zee,  he  transformed 
Helder  by  the  magic  of  his  indomitable  will 
from  a  fishing  village  into  a  fortress  of  the  first 


92  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

rank.  We  drove  two  miles  along  the  great  Hel- 
der  Dyke,  a  model  of  which  we  saw  in  the  Ryks 
Museum  at  Amsterdam.  It  is  Holland's  out- 
post against  the  North  Sea.  It  is  five  miles 
long,  twelve  feet  wide  at  the  top  and  descends 
into  the  sea  two  hundred  feet,  and  is  entirely 
built  of  Norwegian  granite  brought  here  at 
great  cost.  The  tons  of  sea  grass  deposited  on 
the  dike  are  dried  and  used  for  mattresses. 
Anyone  who  has  ever  slept  on  a  sea-weed  mat- 
tress can  understand  why  the  ocean  at  times 
tosses  so  restlessly  in  its  bed.  Across  the  strait 
we  can  see  the  low  coast  of  the  Island  of  Texel. 

Our  drive  ended  at  the  lofty  lighthouse.  We 
were  told  that  we  might  make  the  ascent  if  we 
desired  and  that  the  view  was  magnificent.  But 
we  told  them  that  we  could  not  see  it  that  way. 
Instead  thereof,  we  watched  a  fisherman  and 
his  boy  being  tossed  about  in  a  wherry,  reeling 
their  lines  as  calmly  as  though  their  boat  was 
stationary,  when  at  times  it  seemed  to  be 
engulfed. 

Our  guide  said  that  the  guns  we  heard  be- 
longed to  "sea-soldiers  shooting  for  to  learn" 
or  "learning  for  to  shoot,"  I  am  not  sure  which. 

Gangs  of  men  are  at  work  repairing  this 


Helder  93 

monster  artificial  coast.  Barges  are  unloading 
granite  and  every  square  foot  of  the  dike  is 
tested  daily. 

We  went  through  Helder  lengthways,  cross- 
ways  and  diagonally  and  we  still  have  an  hour 
to  spare,  so  we  are  sitting  in  an  al  fresco  cafe 
drinking  "melk"  at  four  cents  a  glass  and  rest- 
ing. The  various  uniforms,  military,  naval  and 
civil,  form  an  interesting  study.  People  live  in 
rings  in  Holland.  Rings  mark  growth  in  trees, 
but  they  restrict  it  in  communities. 

Helder  is  a  "new"  town  and  densely  dull. 
The  houses  are  of  uniform  size.  The  streets 
are  straight  and  narrow  and  everything  is  so 
clean  as  to  tire  the  eyes.  The  butcher  shops 
are  as  spotless  and  shining  as  the  candy  stores. 


94  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


X 

'Alkmaar 

E  return  to  Alkmaar  on  the  four  o'clock 
train.  As  Helder  is  a  terminus,  we  have 
ample  time  to  take  possession  of  a  com- 
partment and  spread  ourselves.  Alkmaar  means 
"all  sea."  Forty-three  lakes  once  covered  this 
province.  Cornelius  Drebel,  the  inventor  of 
the  thermometer,  was  born  here  in  1634  and 
prior  thereto,  in  1595,  Paschiers  Lammertyn 
invented  damask  weaving  in  this  same  unpre- 
tentious town.  We  learn  facts  like  the  above 
in  almost  every  city  we  visit,  and  our  attitude 
towards  the  stolid,  plodding  citizens  around  us 
is  changing  from  good-natured  amusement  to 
a  most  humble  respect.  We  are  sure  that  the 
genius  which  once  was  Holland's  is  not  dead, 
but  sleeping,  and  simply  awaits  the  occasion  to 
assert  itself. 

Many  of  the  hotels  on  the  Continent  give 
you  a  rate  on  the  European  plan,  including 


Alkmaar  95 

lights  and  service,  and  have  notices  in  the 
rooms  reserving  the  right  to  advance  the  rate 
if  guests  take  meals  outside  the  hotel.  Another 
practice  which  worries  a  teetotaler  is  that  of 
adding  twenty  or  thirty  cents  to  the  price  of  a 
table  d'hote  dinner  when  wine  is  not  ordered. 

Our  train  passed  a  field  of  nasturtiums  as 
red  and  yellow  as  a  prairie  fire.  There  are  sev- 
eral acres  of  bloom  and  it  is  only  one  of  the 
many  such  fields  that  make  rural  Holland  a 
flame  of  color. 

De  Toelast  is  a  comparatively  new  hotel,  but 
it  occupies  the  site  of  its  predecessor,  which 
dated  from  1600,  and  its  management  has  been 
in  the  same  family  for  centuries. 

Like  most  Holland  towns,  Alkmaar  has  had 
its  troubles.  In  1573  it  successfully  withstood 
a  Spanish  siege. 

Its  Groote  Kerk  is  a  large  building  with 
whitewashed  interior  and  timber  vaulting.  It 
contains  a  curious  set  of  pictures  painted  in 
1507,  representing  the  seven  acts  of  mercy. 
They  are  painted  on  boards  and  are  anatomical 
wonders.  We  were  assured  that  they  were 
"rare  works  of  art."  Construing  "rare"  as 


96  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

the  antonym  of  "well  done,"  we  heartily  agreed 
with  our  informant. 

A  finely  wrought  brass  tablet  covers  the 
grave  of  Burgomaster  Palinck,  who  died  in 
1546.  They  also  show  the  tomb  of  Floris  V, 
Count  of  Holland,  who  died  in  1296. 

The  tower  of  the  church  fell  in  the  fifteenth 
century  and  has  never  been  rebuilt. 

Just  a  block  away,  down  the  main  street, 
along  which  a  one-horse  tram  jingles  at  irregu- 
lar intervals,  is  the  Stadhuis,  containing  the 
Municipal  Museum.  This  building  dates  from 
1507.  We  are  guided  through  by  an  ancient 
Hollander  who  admits  everything  we  say  but 
volunteers  no  information. 

We  are  shown  instruments  of  torture  and 
old  paintings,  including  the  inevitable  corpora- 
tion groups.  A  few  cannon  balls  and  spiked 
poles  remind  the  visitor  of  the  siege. 

Your  ticket  is  not  taken  up  at  the  museum, 
but  it  bears  a  printed  request  that  you  tear  it 
up  after  seeing  the  exhibits. 

After  dinner  we  walked  through  the  busi- 
ness section  of  the  town.  The  streets  are  light 
at  eight-thirty,  but  the  stores  are  not.  These 
thrifty  people  do  not  waste  gas  and  only  ilium- 


Alkmaar  97 

.inate  when  a  customer  enters.  A  Welsbach  was 
lighted  in  a  store  where  we  went  to  look  at 
post  cards,  but  it  went  out  soon  after  we  did. 

This  is  our  first  night  in  a  real  Dutch  tavern. 
T  am  journalizing  by  candlelight.  Only  one 
American  has  been  registered  here  for  months. 
We  are  off  the  beaten  path  and  we  are  glad 
of  it.  The  floor  of  our  room  is  almost  as  con- 
cave as  a  bowl.  The  pillow  ends  of  our  beds 
are  three  feet  higher  than  the  feet,  and  you 
sleep  standing  up,  like  a  policeman,  unless  you 
discard  the  pillows  altogether. 

Having  written  so  far,  B.  enters  from  a  tour 
of  investigation  and  announces  that  she  saw 
gas  burning  in  the  next  room.  With  revived 
hopes  we  start  another  search  which  results  in 
locating  a  gas  jet  which  is  promptly  turned  on. 
We  may  not  be  so  mediaeval  as  we  were  but 
we  can  study  our  surroundings  better.  Two 
curious  old  French  engravings  in  elliptical 
frames  adorn  our  walls  and  a  mirror  eighteen 
inches  wide  reaches  from  floor  to  ceiling. 

In  the  morning  we  wait  in  vain  for  Alk- 
maar's  only  street-car,  and  finally  walk  to  the 
cheese  market.  As  with  most  Holland  street- 
cars the  gong  is  on  the  brake  handle,  and  is 


98  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

sounded  by  sliding  the  bell  up  and  down.  This 
is  an  altogether  unnecessary  exertion  on  the 
part  of  the  driver,  for  you  can  hear  the  clack 
of  the  horse's  hoofs  on  the  clinker  paving 
farther  than  you  can  the  gong. 

Good  pavements  are  universal  in  town  and 
country.  Clinker  bricks  predominate,  but  there 
are  occasional  stretches  of  macadam,  with  a 
clinker  path  for  the  horses  in  the  center.  Usual- 
ly you  strike  these  just  about  the  time  that  you 
feel  the  filling  of  your  teeth  separating.  It 
requires  an  alert  driver  to  keep  his  horse  on  the 
clinkers  for  he  naturally  prefers  the  macadam 
and  this  causes  us  to  "tack"  a  great  deal. 

We  enjoyed  the  cheese  market  immensely. 
One  of  the  mysteries  to  a  visitor  from  America 
is  how  Holland  squeezes  a  living  out  of  her 
scanty  resources.  It  is  undoubtedly  true  that 
the  Dutch  peasant  would  live  and  accumulate  a 
bank  account  on  what  the  American  farmer 
wastes.  North  Holland  makes  three  million 
dollars'  worth  of  cheese  every  year  on  land 
which  needs  to  be  nursed  and  petted  and  set  up 
with  nights  to  make  it  produce  anything. 

Just  as  the  clock  struck  eight  and  the  chimes 
played  "Home,  Sweet  Home"  in  the  weigh- 


THE   OLD   WEIGH    HOUSE— ALKMAAR 


Alkmaar  99 

house  tower,  we  stepped  into  the  busy  cheese 
market.  The  product  is  all  of  the  Edam  vari- 
ety, spherical  and  yellow,  and  as  soft  as  the 
best  Swiss  cheese.  It  is  not  the  red,  brittle 
proposition  which  we  gouge  out  at  home.  The 
buyers  are  testing  and  tasting  and  smelling 
the  cheese  and  haggling  over  prices.  Your  true 
Dutchman  dearly  loves  to  bargain.  When  a 
deal  is  concluded  the  buyer  signals  his  porters, 
who  carry  off  the  big  yellow  balls  on  stretchers 
to  the  official  scales.  Each  buyer  has  a  distinct 
color  for  his  porters'  blouses,  and  the  scene  is 
lively  and  picturesque.  The  weigh-house  dates 
from  1582  and  the  tower  from  1599.  It  was 
fixed  up  a  few  years  ago  and  now  looks  good 
for  another  three  hundred  years  without  re- 
touching. 


ioo  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


XI 

Hoorn  and  Enkhnizen 

RIDE  of  twenty  minutes  due  east 
brings  us  to  Hoorn,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Zuider  Zee.  It  is  gross  flattery  to  call 
the  selvage  which  fringes  Holland's  coast  by 
such  a  pretentious  name.  Naturally,  banks 
which  stand  no  higher  in  the  community  than 
do  these  have  great  difficulty  in  keeping  their 
heads  above  water. 

Hoorn  has  about  ten  thousand  people  and 
most  of  her  industries  are  connected  with  the 
fisheries  of  the  Zuider  Zee.  The  nets  used  in 
catching  herring  were  invented  here. 

Her  most  celebrated  citizen  was  Willem 
Schouten,  a  navigator,  who  was  the  first  man  to 
round  Cape  Horn,  and  who  named  that  prom- 
ontory after  his  native  village.  It  would 
have  been  equally  Dutch  to  have  called  it 
"Hook"  instead  of  "Horn,"  for  from  the 
moment  you  pass  the  "Hook  of  Holland,"  you 


Hoorn  and  Enkhuizen  101 

hear  every  sort  of  turn  and  angle  called  a 
hook.  If  you  inquire  the  way  to  the  hotel  par- 
lor, the  maid  says,  "At  the  end  of  the  hall, 
around  the  hook  " 

We  checked  our  luggage  at  the  depot  and 
walked  through  the  interesting  old  town.  The 
Groo  e  Kerk  is  a  modern  structure,  the  suc- 
cessor of  several  which  have  been  destroyed  by 
fire  on  the  same  site. 

The  most  picturesque  trio  of  buildings  are 
St.  Jans  Gasthuis  (a  hospital),  built  in  1563, 
the  Weighhouse  (1609)  and  the  Tribunal 
(1632). 

Everyone  was  polite  and  cordial  and  poured 
forth  information  as  if  his  vocal  dikes  had 
broken.  After  circumnavigating  Hoorn,  we 
found  a  tramless  car-track  which  we  followed 
to  the  station  with  ten  of  our  seventy  minutes 
unexpended. 

The  charge  for  caring  for  luggage  at  a 
depot  is  four  cents  for  each  piece.  We  thought 
it  very  reasonable,  but  discovered  later  that 
the  same  service  is  performed  in  Belgium  for 
one  cent. 

It  requires  half  an  hour  to  reach  Enkhuisen 
and  every  foot  of  the  way  is  a  picture  of  com- 


IO2  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

fort  and  cultivation.  Pretty  villas  with  minia- 
ture moats  and  tiny  drawbridges  delight  the 
eye.  Many  farms  are  devoted  to  flower  culture 
and  the  accurately  planted  rows  look  like  gaily 
colored  ribbons  stretching  away  from  the  train 
on  either  side. 

Enkhuizen  is  another  "dead  city,"  and  has 
only  about  one-sixth  of  its  seventeenth-century 
population.  It  is  our  port  of  embarkation  for 
Stavoren.  Its  fishing  industry  has  disappeared. 
Its  Stavoren  Poort  is  entirely  deserted  even  by 
the  sea.  It  is  an  older  town  than  Amsterdam, 
having  been  founded  about  1000  A.  D.  It  is 
three  hundred  years  older  than  the  Zuider  Zee 
and  narrowly  escaped  a  splashing  when  that 
sea  was  formed.  In  1514  the  Zuider  Zee  tried 
it  again  and  temporarily  wiped  Enkhuizen  off 
the  map.  It  rose  above  the  wave,  or  the  wave 
receded,  to  be  exact,  and  under  Spanish  rule 
it  became  a  fortified  town.  It  opened  its  gates 
to  William  the  Silent  in  1572  and  remained 
ever  loyal  to  the  cause  of  Dutch  freedom. 

Paul  Potter  was  born  here  in  1625.  His 
father  took  the  family  to  Amsterdam  in  1631. 
In  1646,  Paul  joined  the  Painters'  Guild  at 
Delft,  and  in  1649  settled  at  The  Hague  and 


Hoorn  and  Enkhuizen  103 

married.  Maurice  of  Nassau  became  his 
patron,  and  his  most  celebrated  but  not  his  best 
painting,  the  "Bull,"  is  the  pride  of  the  Mau- 
ritshuis  Gallery  today.  In  1653  he  returned  to 
Amsterdam,  where  he  died  the  following  year, 
a  victim  of  overwork.  He  left  over  one  hun- 
dred pictures  and  a  large  number  of  etchings. 
At  the  Enkhuizen  depot  we  found  ourselves 
for  the  first  time  in  a  town  without  an 
English-speaking  inhabitant.  We  had  to 
make  known  our  desires  for  a  carriage  by  pan- 
tomime. When  we  were  finally  understood,  we 
found  that  the  only  way  to  get  a  conveyance 
was  to  go  to  the  solitary  livery  stable  in  the 
town  and  hire  one.  Our  informant  cheerfully 
headed  the  procession  to  the  barn  of  M.  Visser, 
where  we  bargained  for  a  two-horse  carriage 
for  forty  cents  an  hour.  We  were  just  begin- 
ning to  realize  some  of  the  difficulties  of  out- 
lining an  itinerary  to  our  driver  when  a  female 
voice  from  an  upper  window  accosted  us  in 
English.  Our  pleasure  was  the  greater  for 
being  unexpected,  and  we  discovered  that  the 
voice  proceeded  from  Mr.  Visser's  sister-in- 
law,  a  citizeness  of  the  United  States  for  thirty 
years,  who  was  spending  a  month  in  her  native 


IO4  Three  Weeks  /'//  Holland 

town.  She  was  as  pleased  to  talk  English  as 
we  were  -to  hear  it,  and  she  gladly  shared  our 
carriage  and  acted  as  interpreter  and  guide. 

We  first  drove  to  the  Drommedaris  tower,  a 
sixteenth  century  relic  of  the  days  when  Enk- 
huizen  was  fortified.  Thence  we  asked  to  be 
shown  the  choir  screen  in  the  \Yesterkerk.  This 
it  one  of  the  finest  pieces  of  wood-carving  in 
Holland,  and  bears  relief  figures  of  prophets 
and  apostles  beautifully  done.  The  baptismal- 
room  is  an  important  adjunct  to  a  Holland 
church,  and  the  one  in  the  Westerkerk  is  large 
and  prettily  decorated.  Tlie  deacon's  room 
was  just  receiving  its  finishing  touches,  and 
the  sand  on  the  floor  had  been  moulded  into 
artistic  designs  by  the  care-taker.  Each  dea- 
con's pipe  bears  its  owner's  initials  and  is  ready 
for  use  at  the  next  meeting. 

Our  drive  took  us  past  the  hospital.  It  was 
a  welcome  respite  from  clinker  paving  to  strike 
the  asphalted  street  which  bounds  the  hospital 
on  every  side. 

After  thanking  our  conductress,  who,  after 
a  struggle  'twixt  love  and  duty,  saved  us  from 
an  overcharge  on  the  part  of  her  brother-in- 
law,  we  had  an  hour  for  luncheon  before  start- 


Hoorn  and  Enkhuizen  105 

ing  for  Sneek  by  way  of  Stavoren.  We  should 
have  bought  through  tickets,  but  in  our 
ignorance  did  not  do  so.  Consequently  we 
will  try  to  explain  our  desires  to  the  Stavoren 
ticket  agent  in  the  eight  minutes'  interval  be- 
tween the  landing  of  our  boat  "Groningen" 
and  the  departure  of  the  Sneek  train. 

Our  boat  is  spick  and  span,  like  all  Holland 
craft.  The  Zuider  Zee  radiates  an  opalescence 
all  its  own  as  we  move  through  the  light  haze. 
This  peculiar  glow  is  due  to  the  shallowness 
of  the  huge  basin,  and  is  found  nowhere  else. 

We  are  only  a  little  more  than  an  hour  on 
the  boat,  and  the  low  shores  of  Friesland  soon 
come  into  view.  Friesland  boasts  that  she  has 
never  bowed  her  head  to  despot.  Her  men 
are  the  tallest  and  her  women  the  handsomest 
in  Holland.  Wrhen  she  made  her  boast  she 
alluded  to  foreign  despots,  of  course,  for  the 
first  legend  that  you  read  connected  with 
Stavoren  is  that  of  the  Vrouwensand,  a  sand- 
bar which  chokes  the  harbor. 

It  seems  that  years  ago  the  wife  of  a  wealthy 
merchant  desired  one  of  her  husband's  sea 
captains  to  bring  her  from  abroad  "the  most 
precious  thing  in  the  world."  She  was  femi- 


io6  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

nine  and  imaginative.  He  was  Dutch  and 
literal.  He  brought  her  a  cargo  of  wheat.  In 
anger,  she  ordered  the  cargo  dumped  into  the 
harbor.  The  grain  took  root  and  helped  to 
form  the  sandbar,  which  put  Stavoren  out  of. 
business  as  a  port  for  large  vessels. 


In  Friesland  107 


XII 

In  Friesland 

E  did  not  stay  long  in  Stavoren,  but 
took  the  train  for  a  twenty-seven- 
minute  run  to  Sneek.  Our  first  halt 
was  at  Workum.  That  would  make  a  good 
name  for  some  of  our  bond-selling  American 
railroads:  The  Workum  &  Sneek  Railway. 

Just  at  that  point  the  train  stopped  and  the 
guard  put  his  head  into  the  compartment  and 
yelled  "Sneek !"  We  got  out. 

A  curved  walk  under  lovely  shade  trees 
brought  us  in  view  of  our  first  stork  "at  home." 
The  nest  was  on  top  of  a  high  pole,  and  when 
he  discovered  our  wishes  we  had  no  trouble  in 
getting  a  picture.  The  distance  rendered  the 
result  rather  small,  but  a  more  quiet  sitter 
never  posed  for  a  camera  in  the  world. 

Hollanders  are  enthusiastic  billiard  players. 
Every  village  and  hamlet  has  signs  announc- 
ing "billards,"  and  frequently  there  are  several 


io8  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

to  a  block.  We  are  sitting  in  a  billiard  hall 
stirring  "lemon  squash"  with  a  horn-spoon  and 
studying  the  orderly  crowd  around  us. 

Everyone  is  the  soul  of  courtesy,  and  you 
are  kept  busy  responding  to  lifted  hats  from 
all  grades  of  men,  including  the  day-laborers. 
Someone  ought  to  write  a  poem,  and  set  it  to 
music,  on  the  clang  of  the  klompen  on  the 
clinker.  Certainly  the  man  who  made  the  first 
wooden  shoe  must  have  foreseen  the  brick 
pavement,  for  they  are  pitched  in  the  same  key 
and  make  sweet  music  in  the  summer  air  when 
school  lets  out  or  errands  are  run. 

Sneek  has  a  pretty  Louis  XIV  stadhuis  and 
an  old  water-gate,  but  its  chief  charm  to  the 
traveler  is  its  people. 

Having  lost  our  bearings,  we  entered  a  gro- 
cery store  and  asked  directions  from  its  busy 
proprietor.  He  called  a  clerk  and  told  him  to 
accompany  us  to  our  destination.  Later,  en 
route  to  the  depot,  we  made  inquiry  of  a 
prosperous-looking  citizen  who  was  talking 
with  another  gentleman  on  the  sidewalk.  He 
dropped  all  other  concerns,  walked  to  the  cor- 
ner of  the  block  with  us,  pointed  the  proper 


A   STORK   "AT  HOME" 


In  Friesland  109 


way,  and  acknowledged  our  thanks  by  a  polite 
lifting  of  the  hat. 

At  another  time  we  waited  for  the  closing 
of  a  bridge  which  spanned  a  twenty-foot  canal. 
Only  a  single  chain  was  stretched  across  the 
roadway,  but  it  held  the  crowd  like  a  stone 
wall.  In  America  we  would  have  been  over 
before  the  bridge  stopped  turning,  but  not  in 
Holland.  Not  a  soul  moved  until  the  man  who 
was  furnishing  the  power  laid  down  his  lever 
and  released  the  chain. 

The  Frisian  language  is  different  from  that 
of  the  rest  of  Holland.  It  more  nearly  resem- 
bles English.  It  is  said  that  a  Scotch  High-- 
lander has  no  trouble  in  making  himself 
understood  in  Friesland ;  but  why  that  is  cited 
as  proof  that  their  talk  resembles  English,  I 
cannot  say.  At  any  rate,  there  is  a  marked 
similarity  in  the  dialects  of  the  two  sections, 
and  this  has  formed  a  basis  for  much  interest- 
ing speculation  pointing  to  a  common  origin. 

We  reached  Leeuwarden  in  forty-one 
minutes  after  leaving  Sneek.  Leeuwarden  is 
the  ancient  capital  of  Friesland.  We  register 
at  the  Amicitia  and  search  the  book  in  vain 
for  another  English  or  American  name  for 


no  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

months  back.  We  learn  of  a  Cafe  Chantant 
and  visit  it.  We  had  the  most  expensive  seats 
in  the  house — forty  cents — and  sat  in  a  loge 
holding  twenty-four  persons.  The  audience 
was  quiet  and  orderly  and  the  entertainment 
clean  and  of  a  high  class.  A  group  of  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  Frisian  women  sat  together, 
wearing  gold  helmets  with  lace  caps  over  them. 
They  ranged  in  age  from  sixteen  to  sixty-five, 
and  all  were  dressed  alike.  They  attracted  no 
attention,  except  ours,  and  furnished  another 
proof  that  tourists  are  scarce  in  this  locality. 
Prices  are  reasonable.  Our  lodging  and  break- 
fast cost  seventy  cents  for  each  of  us.  Car- 
riages are  sixty  cents  an  hour,  but  there  is  an 
Exposition  and  Kirmess  in  town,  which  ac- 
counts for  their  high  price.  Every  lassie  has 
a  laddie,  for  it  is  quite  customary  for  the  farm- 
er's daughter  to  hire  a  male  escort  for  the  week 
if  she  have  no  suitor,  and  she  pays  all  of  their 
joint  expenses  and  his  fee  besides. 

We  watch  from  our  window  a  woman 
carrying  two  pails  suspended  from  her  shoul- 
ders by  a  wooden  yoke.  She  stops  at  a  door 
and  rings  the  bell.  A  bowl  is  handed  out  and 
a  measure  of  milk  is  put  into  it,  and  the  milk- 


In  Friesland  in 


woman  proceeds  to  the  house  of  the  next 
customer. 

We  have  not  seen  any  ice  water  since  we 
left  Amsterdam.  At  breakfast  our  demands 
for  water  brought  a  pitcher  of  hot  water.  We 
could  make  another  town  a  day  if  we  would 
not  insist  on  drinking  water. 

We  took  a  delightful  ride  into  the  country 
along  canals  and  under  rows  of  shade  trees. 
After  resting  in  this  way  for  a  while,  we 
returned  to  the  town  past  the  Kanselary  (a 
public  library)  museum,  stadhuis  and  weigh- 
house,  to  the  Groote  Kerk  where  the  progeni- 
tors of  William  the  Silent  are  buried.  We  go 
through  streets  too  narrow  to  permit  the  pas- 
sage of  another  carriage.  A  bicycle  squeezes 
by  us  with  difficulty.  We  receive  the  homage 
of  bowing  and  hat-lifting  citizens  until  an  ill- 
mannered,  noisy,  smelly  motor-car  dashes 
down  a  cross-street,  and,  presto !  we  are  alone, 
absolutely  deserted  by  the  fickle  populace.  We 
drive  out  to  the  Oldehove,  an  unfinished  church 
tower  dating  from  1529.  We  return  through 
the  Noorden  Plantage,  a  beautiful  park  inter- 
sected by  canals,  to  the  Frisian  Museum,  rich 
in  porcelain  of  Delft,  India  and  China.  They 


112  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

have  an  eighteenth  century  set  of  rooms  from 
Hindeloopen  completely  furnished  and  very 
interesting.  We  cast  envious  eyes  at  a  set  of 
East  Indian  china  containing  nine  hundred 
pieces,  but  we  compromised  on  being  permitted 
to  purchase  four  Delft  plates  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  and  to  leave  orders  for  some  fifteenth 
century  ware  to  be  made  and  shipped  to  our 
home  address.  How  time  flies  in  an  antique 
salesroom ! 


Groningen  and  Assen  1 1 3 


XIII 
Groningcn  and  Assen 

E  drive  back  to  the  station  and  catch 
the  train  for  Groningen  and  leave 
Leeuv^arden  behind  us  with  its  33,600 
people  and  not  a  street-car.  In  addition  to  the 
difficulty  that  would  be  experienced  in  getting 
a  Hollander  to  pay  carfare  under  any  circum- 
stances, it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  Dutch 
cities  are  compactly  built  and  cover  very  small 
areas.  Many  a  town  in  the  United  States  with 
only  3,500  inhabitants  is  spread  out  over  more 
territory  than  Leeuwarden.  Houses  are  built 
flush  with  the  sidewalk  and  with  no  intervening 
yard  space.  This  was  done  in  days  of  old, 
when  towns  were  circumscribed  by  walls,  and 
has  been  continued  partly  from  habit  or  con- 
servatism, and  partly  as  a  measure  of  thrift. 
Our  train  just  crossed  a  country  road  paved 
for  miles,  having  a  row  of  uniform  trees  on 
each  side  of  it,  better  than  most  city  boule- 


114  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

yards  at  home.  We  are  carrying  a  lot  of 
soldiers  and  distributing  them  at  the  little 
towns.  Every  train  seems  to  carry  them,  and 
every  depot  has  a  crowd  of  them. 

Groningen  has  69,500  people  and  is  the  capi- 
tal of  the  province  of  the  same  name.  It  is  a 
Hanseatic  town  and  can  trace  its  pedigree  to 
the  ninth  century.  Its  university  was  founded 
in  1614. 

For  the  benefit  of  those  who*  have  "forgot- 
ten" what  'the  Hanseatic  League  was,  it  may 
be  well  to  state  briefly  that  it  was  German  in 
its  origin  and  commercial  in  its  purposes,  but 
had  nothing  to  do  with  baseball.  At  the  height 
of  its  power  it  included  eighty-five  cities,  but 
jealousy  and  over-reaching  among  its  members 
honeycombed  it,  and  its  separate  cities  surren- 
dered their  rights  one  by  one  to  their  respective 
sovereigns.  They  did  a  good  work  in  afford- 
ing to  commerce  the  protection  which  arrogant 
over-lords  were  too  blind  or  too  weak  to 
extend.  In  their  day  they  declared  war  and 
signed  treaties.  In  short,  they  made  trade  so 
safe  and  profitable  that  as  a  reward  for  their 
efforts  it  was  taken  away  from  them,  and  in 
1630  they  held  their  last  meeting. 


Groningen  and  Assen  1 1 5 

It  is  necessary  to  inspect  your  railroad  tickets 
closely  in  Holland.  The  round-trip  ticket  only 
costs  one-fourth  more  than  the  single  trip,  so 
its  use  is  almost  universal.  We  cannot  use 
them,  as  we  are  going  straight  ahead,  but  I 
bought  two  to  Groningen  and  return,  by  mis- 
take, and  now  have  two  inexpensive  and 
characteristic  souvenirs. 

No  carriages  were  at  the  depot,  so  we  waited 
twenty  minutes  for  one  to  be  brought,  and  then 
drove  to  the  church  of  St.  Martin.  As  usual, 
the  cabby  wanted  to  show  us  the  new  part  of 
town,  but  we  were  firm.  The  church  has  a 
fine  tower  and  an  excellent  organ.  Near  the 
tower  is  the  Regthuis,  a  small  building  built 
in  1509,  and  now  used  as  a  guard-house.  We 
drove  past  the  University  grounds,  through  the 
park,  to  another  of  Holland's  well-organized 
charities,  an  asylum  for  the  deaf  and  dumb. 
Every  claim  of  human  suffering  is  cared  for. 
Our  driver  showed  us  what  he  called  "a  house 
for  loose  children,"  which  we  interpreted  to 
mean  an  orphan  asylum. 

Then  we  drove  to  one  of  the  meaningless 
sights  of  the  town,  the  old  house  in  Jat  Street 
which  bears  the  bas-relief  of  a  bearded  man's 


n6  Three  Weeks  ///  Holland 

head  with  the  inscription  Ich  kick  uoch  in't — 
"I  still  peep  into  it."  But  no  one  seemed  to 
know  the  story  connected  therewith. 

Here  is  something  for  you  to  remember: 
If  you  ask  a  cabby  "How  much  ?"  after  a  ride, 
he  will  not  overcharge  you.  If,  on  the  con- 
trary, you  tender  him  fifty  per  cent  in  excess 
of  his  fare  without  inquiry,  he  will  invariably 
demand  more. 

Speaking  of  cabbies  reminds  me  of  a  curious 
fact,  viz.,  that  Holland  horses  do  not  know 
how  to  back.  If  one  gets  into  a  tight  place  he 
simply  must  turn  around,  for  the  backing 
process  is  entirely  unknown  to  both  horse  and 
driver. 

Assen  is  forty  minutes'  ride  from  Groningen. 
According  to  Baedeker,  "it  is  a  town  of  9,500 
inhabitants  partly  concealed  by  woods"  ;  so  we 
will  look  behind  the  trees  for  the  inhabitants. 
It  is  the  capital  of  Drenthe.  En  route,  we  pass 
peat-bogs,  with  stacks  of  black  peat  drying  in 
the  sun,  and  see  our  first  big  wheat  fields. 

At  Assen  we  are  scheduled  for  three  hours  in 
a  fifteen-minute  town.  So  we  go  to  a  nearby 
cafe,  where  we  sip  lemonade  and  await  the 
arrival  of  a  carriage  ordered  by  our  bustling 


Groningen  and  Assen  117 

landlady.  We  will  drive  to  Rolde  and  see  the 
Giants'  Graves,  a  name  given  to  two  groups  of 
bowlders  deposited  by  some  prehistoric  glacier 
and  bearing  to  the  trained  eye  of  the  geologist 
the  label,  ''Made  in  Norway." 

When  at  home  we  join  in  the  universal  out- 
cry against  Standard  Oil  and  the  Sugar  Trust, 
but  in  Holland  we  regret  that  the  last  named 
corporation  does  not  follow  the  other  one  into 
Holland  and  improve  the  quality  of  the  native 
sugar.  It  is  coarse  and  gritty.  Pulverized 
sugar  is  unknown.  Long  before  the  loaf-sugar 
furnished  us  has  dissolved  in  our  lemonade;  the 
carriage  is  announced.  B.  gives  the  necessary 
instructions  to  the  driver,  who  grasps  every- 
thing she  says  with  an  alertness  that  should 
have  warned  us.  We  start  out  on  the  most 
magnificent  ride  of  our  trip.  We  get  into 
the  real  country,  with  paved  roads  and  between 
trees  that  fairly  deserve  the  hackneyed  title  of 
"Monarchs  of  the  Forest."  We  drive  on  and 
on,  pass  through  a  village,  and  out  again  into 
the  country.  It  is  delightful,  but  we  are 
nervous  regarding  our  train.  We  spy  a  sign, 
"Tumulibosch,"  and  stop  our  unwilling  driver 
and  clamber  out.  A  rustic  gate  admits  us  to 


n8  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

a  dense  wood,  but  with  no  indication  of  bowl- 
ders. After  losing  fifteen  minutes  and  our 
path,  we  return  to  the  carriage,  having  found 
plenty  of  "bosch"  but  no  "tumuli." 

We  then  have  another  heart-to-heart  talk 
with  the  driver.  "Oh,  ja,  Stein,"  he  says,  and 
whips  up  his  horse.  In  ten  minutes  more  he 
dismounts,  exchanges  his  plug  hat  for  a  cap, 
and  beckons  us  to  follow  on  foot,  leaving  the 
horse  to  be  baited  during  our  absence. 

After  ten  minutes'  walk  through  an  old 
churchyard  and  over  ploughed  ground,  we 
reach  two  groups  of  bowlders,  interesting  to 
the  antiquarian,  and  marvelous  even  to  our 
jaded  eyes. 

They  are  thrown  about  in  two  heaps,  as  if 
spilled  from  some  giant's  hand.  Trees  have 
grown  around  them  during  the  centuries  that 
they  have  lain  there.  They  have  been  rounded 
by  glacial  erosion,  and  when  we  remember 
that  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  Holland 
these  are  the  only  rocks  not  brought  here  by 
the  agency  of  man,  we  can  understand  the 
wonder  they  excite. 

It  had  taken  us  almost  two  hours  to  reach 
the  stones,  and  our  train  was  due  to  leave 


Groningen  and  Assen  119 

Assen  in  another  hour.  Naturally,  we  were 
perturbed,  but  the  driver  was  calm  with  a 
Dutch  calmness,  alongside  of  which  a  cigar- 
store  Indian  is  acrobatic. 

At  the  end  of  twenty-five  minutes  we  had 
settled  back  in  our  seats  and  bowed  our  heads 
to  the  inevitable,  when  B.  said,  "That  place 
looks  familiar,"  and  lo  and  behold!  It  was 
the  cafe  from  which  we  started. 

It  seems  that  the  trouble  arose  from  B.'s 
thinking  that  she  was  telling  the  driver  to  go 
past  the  town  hall.  She  put  it  into  her  freshest 
Holland;  Holland  that  she  had  only  had  a 
week.  He  said,  "Eerste?"  which  means 
"First."  We  nodded  an  affirmative  and  he 
started  off.  B.  said  :  "There!  After  this,  you 
let  me  talk  to  these  Hollanders.  There  is  a 
different  dialect  for  each  province,  and  I  seem 
to  learn  them  more  quickly  than  you." 

As  my  vocabulary  never  pretends  to  go 
beyond  distinguishing  a  smoking-compartment 
from  the  other  kind,  I  meekly  acquiesce.  She 
hardly  leaned  back  during  the  first  mile,  she 
was  so  elated  with  her  success.  After  ten 
minutes  of  leafy  woods,  I  murmured,  "Where 
is  the  town  hall?"  She  conceded  that  the 


I2O  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

driver  must  have  misunderstood  the  order  of 
exercises,  and  that  we  were  going  to  Rolde 
first.  Finally,  when  we  made  our  twenty-five- 
minute  return,  it  dawned  on  us  that  in  some 
way  or  other  we  had  asked  to  be  driven 
through  the  Assen  Wood. 

Well,  it  was  worth  the  money. 


Zwolle  and  Kampen  121 


XIV 

Zwolle  and  Kampen 

SSEN  to  Zwolle  is  another  long  ride, 
taking  an  hour  and  thirty-nine  minutes. 
Zwolle  is  the  capital  of  Over-Yssel.  It 
is  the  birthplace  of  the  painter  Terburg. 
Thomas  a  Kempis  lived  sixty-four  of  his 
ninety-two  years  in  a  monastery  in  the  suburbs. 

Between  Assen  and  Zwolle  we  pass  miles  of 
peat  country,  black  and  barren,  covered  with 
excrescences  of  heather,  with  here  and  there 
deep  scars  where  the  peat  has  been  removed. 
Dark,  noisome  vapors  are  drawing  over  it  like 
a  shroud.  It  is  a  ghostly,  dismal  place,  fit 
roaming-ground  for  another  "Hound  of  the 
Baskervilles''  to  choose  for  his  nightly 
prowlings. 

Black  and  white  cows  move  through  the 
mist  with  blurred  and  softened  outlines,  while 
others  are  untouched  by  the  vapor,  and  gaze 
at  our  train,  in  bovine  placidity,  as  through  a 


122  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

torn  web.  Here  are  whole  acres  completely 
hidden,  and  our  train  rides  through  the  clouds 
as  though  we  were  miles  above  the  ocean  level 
instead  of  several  feet  below  it.  A  short  dis- 
tance away,  a  farmhouse  with  its  clump  of 
trees  looks  like  an  island.  It  is  a  weird,  creepy 
ride,  and  we  are  glad  when  it  is  over. 

We  found  a  modern  hotel  at  Zwolle,  with 
good  service  and  running  water.  Our  room 
is  on  the  first  floor,  or,  to  be  exact,  it  is  four 
steps  above  the  first  floor.  It  is  twelve  feet 
by  twenty-four,  and  is  furnished  like  a  show- 
window.  We  have  two  French  windows,  a  fire- 
place and  marble  mantel,  a  clock,  bronze  vases, 
four  chairs,  two  tables,  twin  beds,  a  double 
washstand,  a  small  stand  for  a  candle,  and  one 
of  those  papered-over  panels  opening  into  a 
"no  thoroughfare"  sort  of  Bluebeard  Cham- 
ber which  reeks  with  mystery.  All  of  this 
elegance  costs  one  dollar  each  for  room  and 
breakfast. 

Last  evening  a  Saturday-night  bedlam  pre- 
vailed. It  was  the  breaking  up  of  a  kirmess, 
and  unbridled  license  held  sway.  There  were 
yelling  and  singing  and  loud  laughter  until 
the  wee.  small  hours. 


Zwolle  and  Kampen  123 

This  morning  a  Sabbath  stillness  pervades 
everything.  I  went  downstairs  and  opened  up 
the  hotel.  Everyone  was  asleep  and  the  doors 
were  locked.  I  unlocked  and  threw  open  the 
front  door,  paced  the  echoing  clinkers  for  a 
while,  but,  seeing  no  signs  of  patronage,  I 
locked  up  again  and  returned  to  our  room. 

We  have  been  so  busy  that  we  forgot  it  was 
Sunday,  and  are  forced  to  live  economically 
until  we  can  cash  an  express  order.  We  have 
only  had  three  post-cards  in  twenty-four  hours. 

We  took  a  round-trip  ticket  to  Kampen.  It 
is  a  twenty-minute  ride,  and  only  costs  twenty 
cents  for  a  round-trip  ticket,  and  that  appeals 
to  us.  Kampen  is  another  town  that  has  seen 
better  days.  It  was  once  a  Hanse  town,  but 
its  harbor  has  silted  up  and  it  has  shrunk  to 
twenty  thousand  people.  It  was  formerly  on 
the  banks  of  the  Zuider  Zee,  but  is  now  an 
inland  village.  The  geography  of  this  country 
is  constantly  shifting.  Places  once  reached  by 
a  steamer  now  depend  on  a  tram  line,  and  vice 
versa.  Plowing  the  sea  is  no  mere  figure  of 
speech  in  Holland.  Much  of  the  old  bed  of 
the  Zuider  Zee  is  now  farm  land.  Before  an- 
other century  passes  it  will  all  be  under  culti- 


124  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

ration,  instead  of  under  water,  and  the  area 
of  Holland  will  be  nearly  doubled. 

We  crossed  a  modern  bridge  after  leaving 
the  station,  and  walked  along  the  principal 
street.  We  inquired  of  some  boys  the  way  to 
the  Corn  Market.  They  did  not  understand 
us,  and  a  gentleman  stepped  up,  hat  in  hand, 
and  gave  us  directions.  Their  language  is  a 
closed  book  to  us,  but  their  hands  are  eloquent. 
They  persist  until  they  are  satisfied  that  they 
have  made  their  meaning  clear,  and  apparently 
are  proud  of  the  fact  that  they  can  understand 
us,  and  it  is  quite  an  achievement. 

Men,  women  and  children  in  their  Sunday 
clothes  were  trooping  into  the  fourteenth- 
century  Bovenkerk  which  faces  the  old  market, 
and  we  followed  them.  We  refused  the  offer 
of  a  seat  on  the  part  of  a  kindly  and  courteous 
old  gentleman,  but  stood  while  a  hymn  was 
sung.  Men  and  women  occupy  separate  sec- 
tions of  the  church,  and  the  men  frequently 
leave  their  hats  on  until  they  are  seated. 

Outside  the  church  we  noticed  the  sign  of  a 
publisher  who  had  a  most  peculiar  name:  G. 
Nottrot.  He  would  starve  to  death  in  the 
United  States  if  he  tried  to  live  up  to  his  name. 


Zwolle  and  Kampen  125 

We  next  visited  the  old  Corn  Market  gate, 
which  has  been  rendered  ugly  with  whitewash. 
This  is  a  great  country  for  whitewashing  ruins, 
a  practice  which  obtains  to  some  extent  on  our 
side  of  the  Atlantic. 

We  went  the  length  of  the  town  to  the  Stad- 
huis,  which  was  restored  after  the  fire  in  1543 ; 
but  the  statues  on  the  exterior  are  from  the 
original  building,  and  they  look  it.  They  repre- 
sent Charlemagne,  Alexander  the  Great, 
Moderation,  Fidelity,  Justice,  and  Neighborly 
Love.  They  form  rather  a  mixed  crowd. 

Within,  we  found  an  elaborately  carved 
stand  for  the  magistrates  and  little  stalls 
through  which  peeped  the  advocates.  A  cur- 
tain-pole in  front  of  the  advocates  was  used 
for  rolling  briefs  upon.  The  most  attractive 
exhibit  in  the  room  is  a  beautifully  sculptured 
marble  mantel. 

We  return  to  Zwolle,  and,  after  waiting 
twenty  minutes  for  a  carriage,  which  is  espe- 
cially summoned  for  us  from  a  livery  barn, 
we  drive  to  the  Sassenpoort,  one  of  the  old 
gateways  in  whose  towers  are  stored  the 
archives  of  the  town. 

Thence  we  take  our  leisurely  way  to  the 


126  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

Stadhuis.  This  building  has  a  disappointing 
modern  exterior;  but  do  not  be  fooled  by  it. 
Within,  it  holds  the  quaintest  of  council- 
chambers,  with  an  interesting  fireplace  and  a 
ceiling  supported  by  caryatides,  which  are 
caricatures  of  former  councilmen  carved  in 
wood. 


Utrecht  and  Arnhem  127 


XV 


ETWEEN  Zwolle  and  Utrecht,  our 
next  stop,  our  road  lies  through  the 
Veluwe,  the  most  sterile  portion  of 
Holland.  The  Salvation  Army  has  220  acres 
under  cultivation,  giving  employment  to  thirty 
men,  and  it  is  reclaiming  land  and  men. 

Utrecht  is  the  capital  of  Utrecht  province. 
It  is  a  city  of  108,500  people.  It  was  the  ford 
of  the  Rhine  for  ancient  Rome.  The  Rhine 
here  splits  into  the  Old  Rhine,  which  we  saw 
at  Leiden,  and  the  Vecht,  which  empties  into 
the  Zuider  Zee  near  Muiden.  We  are  now 
within  less  than  an  hour's  ride  of  Amsterdam, 
since  leaving  which  city  we  have  almost  en- 
circled that  inland  sea.  When  we  reach  Arn- 
hem tonight  we  will  have  been  in  every  prov- 
ince in  Holland  except  Zeeland,  and  we  will 
go  there  after  visiting  Belgium.  This  has  been 


128  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

accomplished  in  eight  days,  one  of  which  was 
spent  in  The  Hague,  and  two  in  Amsterdam. 
This  statement  is  not  made  for  the  purpose  of 
emphasizing  the  rapidity  with  which  we  have 
traveled.  I  have  been  too  much  chastened  and 
humbled  on  that  score  to  desire  to  call  attention 
to  it.  But  it  will  show  you  what  a  mite  of  a 
country  Holland  is,  and  what  a  world  of  thrift 
and  industry  it  requires  for  her  to  be  made  a 
source  of  wealth  to  her  citizens. 

This  Veluwe  is  principally  sand-dunes. 
Nothing  is  raised  here  but  tobacco  and  chil- 
dren. We  are  three  hundred  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea,  but  the  giddy  elevation  does 
not  seem  to  affect  us. 

At  Utrecht  we  relieve  the  financial  situation 
by  trading  a  twenty-dollar  bill  for  forty-seven 
gulden.  This  enables  us  again  to  revel  in  a 
carriage.  We  drive  along  the  Oude  Gracht 
and  feast  our  eyes  on  enchanting  scenes  along 
the  canal.  The  town  is  one  or  two  stories  above 
the  water,  and  people  live  under  the  pavements 
and  their  doors  open  on  the  canal. 

The  Cathedral  was  once  one  of  the  finest 
and  largest  churches  in  Holland,  but  the  nave 
blew  down  in  1674  and  was  never  rebuilt,  con- 


Utrecht  and  Arnhem  129 

sequently  our  carriage  is  standing  on  ground 
that  was  once  occupied  by  worshipers,  while 
the  choir  and  tower  now  stand  as  two  distinct 
and  widely  separated  buildings. 

A  statue  of  John  of  Nassau  adorns  the 
square  thus  formed.  He  was  brother  to 
William  the  Silent  and  his  most  untiring  and 
faithful  ally  in  Holland's  war  with  Spain.  His 
death  was  a  double  blow  to  the  Prince  of 
Orange,  and  came  at  a  time  when  the  Nether- 
lands were  harrassed  by  misfortunes  on  every 
hand.  A  less  determined  leader  would  have 
sought  terms  with  the  enemy,  but  reverses 
seemed  to  add  to  William's  courage.  It  is 
hard  for  a  student  of  Dutch  history  to  account 
for  the  successful  termination  of  their  eighty 
years'  war  with  Spain.  Overwhelmed  by  num- 
bers, arrayed  against  the  veterans  of  countless 
victories,  the  Hollander  did  not  really  whip 
the  Spaniard.  The  Spaniard  wore  himself  to 
a  shadow  whipping  the  Hollander,  and  in  the 
end  found  an  opponent  as  undaunted  and 
vigorous  as  in  the  beginning,  while  Spain  was 
impoverished  and  discredited  at  home  and 
abroad. 


130  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

The  Antiquarian  Museum  is  closed,  so  \ve 
will  drive  along  the  Maliebaan,  a  handsome 
boulevard,  and  view  the  youth  and  beauty  of 
Utrecht  on  Sunday  dress  parade. 

Nothing  else  being  open,  we  return  to  the 
Cathedral,  whose  exterior  is  defaced  by  the 
usual  hideous  gargoyles.  Within,  we  find 
thrilling  interest  in  studying  the  tomb  of 
Bishop  Guy  of  Hainault,  who  died  in  1317, 
and  we  try  in  vain  to  realize  an  antiquity  which 
antedates  the  discovery  of  America  by  almost 
two  centuries. 

Just  to  show  what  mistaken  zeal  can  do  when 
it  tampers  with  the  beautiful,  the  Cathedral 
has  eighteen  needle-like  Gothic  columns  as 
slender  and  graceful  as  reeds.  What  do  these 
vandals  do  but  put  a  wooden  pen  in  the  center 
and  seat  it  with  pine  pews,  completely  obliter- 
ating half  of  the  design  and  all  of  the  effect. 

The  Paushuizen,  or  "pope's  house,"  is  worth 
a  visit.  Pope  Adrian  VI.  built  it  in  1517,  when 
he  was  provost  of  St.  Salvator.  On  its  gable 
is  an  ancient  figure  of  the  Savior. 

Utrecht  has  a  one-horse  tram  system  that 
permeates  the  entire  city.  Its  cars  'seat  eight 


ENTRANCE    TO    THE    CLOISTERS— UTRECHT 


Utrecht  and  Arnhem  131 

persons.  Think  of  that  in  a  city  of  over 
100,000  inhabitants.  The  cars  are  never 
crowded,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  ride  in  them 
through  the  clean  old  burg. 

Another  hour  on  the  train  and  we  are  in 
Arnhem,  the  capital  of  Guelderland.  En  route 
we  pass  through  the  Moravian  village  of  Zeist, 
the  Quaker  settlement  of  Holland.  Everything 
tells  of  order  and  cultivation.  The  women 
wear  costumes  to  indicate  whether  thev  are 
maidens,  wives  or  widows. 

At  Maarsbergen  the  railroad  passes  the 
"Pyramid  of  Austerlitz,"  a  mound  raised  in 
1805  in  honor  of  Napoleon's  coronation.  If 
you  fail  to  see  it,  do  not  blame  us;  blame 
Baedeker.  We  did  not  see  it  either.  On  our 
right  is  that  portion  of  Holland  known  as  the 
Betuwe,  the  antipode  of  the  Veluwe  in 
productiveness. 

At  Arnhem  we  tried  to  get  into  the  Conti- 
nental Hotel,  near  the  depot,  but  it  was  impos- 
sible. We  mean  that  the  hotel  was.  It  was 
cheaper  and  woodener  and  more  combustible 
in  appearance  than  a  World's  Fair  hostelry. 
After  inspecting  its  interior  we  managed  to 


132  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

gain  the  threshold  and  signaled  to  a  porter 
from  the  du  Soleil,  who  rescued  us  and  took 
us  to  the  loveliest  of  rooms,  which  we  will 
describe  to  you  later. 

Having  dined  at  Utrecht,  we  made  a  hasty 
toilet  and  started  on  a  pedestrian  tour  of  ex- 
ploration. We  walked  several  blocks  along  a 
shaded  avenue  bounded  on  one  side  by  the 
Rhine,  which  is  crossed  at  this  point  by  a 
bridge  of  boats.  A  tall  wooded  bluff  is  to  our 
right,  and  we  finally  reached  a  point  from 
which  a  zig-zag  path  leads  to  the  top.  We 
followed  the  path  to  the  grounds  of  the  Buiten- 
Societett.  There  we  bought  tickets  for  ten 
cents  each  and  sat  at  a  table  while  a  military 
band  from  Deventer  played  excellent  music. 

We  concluded  to  return  to  our  hotel  by  a 
different  route  and  lost  our  bearings.  Two  or 
three  people  gave  us  explicit  directions  which 
did  not  work  out  in  practice,  and  we  were  about 
to  summon  a  cab  when  a  young  fellow  and 
his  sweetheart  laughingly  took  us  in  tow  and 
led  us  right  up  to  the  door  before  leaving  us. 

And  now  for  an  idea  of  this  room  and  its 
furnishings.  The  room  at  Zwolle  seems  taw- 


Utrecht  and  Arnhem  133 

dry  in  comparison.  There  are  four  small  oil 
paintings  on  the  wall,  and  one  eight-by-ten- foot 
canvas,  four  cabinets  and  a  mantel  with  a  ten- 
foot  cheval  glass;  the  mantel  and  cabinets  are 
filled  with  Dresden  and  Delft  china  and  ivory 
carvings;  a  handsome  four-panel  Japanese 
screen;  a  shepherd-boy  statuette  eighteen 
inches  high  on  an  ebony  pedestal ;  a  large  blue 
pottery  vase  with  a  portrait  of  Rembrandt  fired 
in;  eight  chairs,  five  hassocks,  a  settee  in  bro- 
cade and  framed-in  mirrors,  a  brass  clock  and 
candelabra,  a  six-foot  standing-lamp  with  two 
brackets;  wardrobe,  dresser  and  all  the  usual 
essential  furniture  of  a  bedroom  topped  off 
and  finished  with  a  double  bed  from  which  we 
hesitate  to  lift  the  cream  and  gold  confection 
in  lace  and  satin,  for  fear  it  will  all  fade  away 
like  one  of  Nemo's  dreams. 

Adjoining  and  connected  by  French  windows 
is  an  alcove  filled  with  potted  palms,  just  for 
good  measure. 

We  arose  early  Monday  morning,  refreshed 
after  our  day  of  rest,  and  ready  to  go  to  work 
again.  In  our  stroll  last  night  we  noticed 
several  pretty  wicker  summer  houses,  entirely 


134  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

open  on  one  side,  with  chairs,  a  table  and  lamp, 
and  Japanese  pictures  on  the  walls.  They  look 
very  cozy  with  the  family  grouped  around  the 
light — father  smoking,  mother  knitting  or 
sewing,  and  the  children  reading  and  playing. 
They  afford  a  glimpse  of  fairyland,  and  with 
their  bright  coloring  seem  too  fanciful  for  this 
work-a-day  world. 

We  eat  breakfast  in  the  garden,  and,  our 
time  being  limited,  we  take  our  baggage  with 
us  and  show  it  the  town.  Many  brawny- 
looking  youths  in  rowing  costumes  are  canoe- 
ing on  the  Rhine. 

It  suggests  a  sameness  to  keep  repeating  that 
the  Groote  Markt  and  Church  are  "interest- 
ing," when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  each  one  is 
unique  and  elicits  fresh  admiration.  In  the 
same  way,  the  general  architecture  of  Stad- 
huises  is  the  same,  and  could  not  possibly  be 
confused  with  any  other  form  of  buildings,  and 
yet  each  one  has  distinguishing  characteristics 
that  strike  you  with  the  charm  of  novelty. 

For  example,  the  decorations  of  the  Arnhem 
stadhuis  are  largely  Satanic,  and  this  has  given 
it  the  name  of  Duivelshuis  among  the  people. 


Utrecht  and  Arnhem  135 

As  usual,  we  have  to  resort  to  strategy  to 
keep  the  small  boys  and  girls  from  in  front 
of  the  camera.  One  successful  ruse  is  to  focus 
carefully  at  right  angles  to  the  desired  object, 
until  the  juvenile  population  is  massed  in  front 
of  you,  and  then  whirl  and  snap  before  they 
can  re-form  their  lines. 


136  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


XVI 

Farewell  to  Holland 

T  takes  twenty-two  minutes  to  get  from 
Arnhem  to  Nymwegen,  another  old 
Roman  town,  later  a  member  of  the 
Hanseatic  League.  We  drive  along  the  Sta- 
tions weg  to  a  beautiful  square,  the  Keizer- 
Karels-Plein,  and  through  it  to  the  crowded 
fruit  and  vegetable  market,  past  the  Stadhuis 
with  its  facade  filled  with  statues  of  German 
kings.  Our  destination  is  the  Valkhof,  in 
whose  grounds  are  the  ruins  of  a  palace  built 
during  the  reign  of  Carlovingian  emperors. 
There  is  not  much  of  the  old  palace  remaining, 
and  still  less  of  the  chapel,  which  was  conse- 
crated in  799. 

We  ascend  the  Belvedere,  from  whose  top 
you  get  glimpses  of  four  river  valleys — the 
Waal,  Rhine,  Maas  and  Yssel.  We  can  see 
Arnhem  and  Cleve.  This  is  the  home  of  legend. 


IN  KRONENBURK  PARK— NYMWEGEN 


Farewell  to  Holland  137 

The  Knight  of  the  Swan  is  claimed  by  both 
Cleve  and  Nymwegen. 

In  what  Baedeker  calls  "the  center  of  the 
picturesque  huddle  of  the  old  town"  is  the 
Groote  Kerk.  The  first  object  that  greets  us 
in  the  entry  is  a  box  containing  a  harp.  The 
lid  of  the  box  bears  the  name  of  a  well-known 
Chicago  firm,  and  we  are  rather  glad  to  see 
that  something  sweeter  than  canned  meats  is 
exported  from  our  native  land.  While  we  are 
looking  at  it,  we  are  greeted  by  the  sound  of 
chimes  from  the  tower  playing  "The  Last  Rose 
of  Summer."  We  have  not  visited  a  Holland 
town  which  did  not  have  a  set  of  chimes  in 
some  old  tower  or  belfry. 

We  were  shown  through  the  church  by  the 
charming  wife  of  the  Sacristan,  whose  little 
two-year-old  took  my  hand  confidingly  and  led 
me  along  behind  her  mother  and  B.  There 
are  many  bas-reliefs  from  the  original  church 
(1272)  built  into  the  structure,  which  was 
not  completed  until  the  fifteenth  century.  The 
paintings,  as  usual,  have  been  whitewashed, 
destroying  the  general  effect,  but  doubtless 
improving  some  of  the  pictures.  There  is  a 
very  beautiful  monument  in  the  church  in 


138  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

memory  of  Catherine  of  Bourbon,  who  died 
in  1469. 

Our  conductress  showed  us  one  small  room, 
which  she  called  the  "kinder  dope,"  and  made 
us  understand  after  much  elaborate  pantomime 
that  it  was  the  baptismal  room.  Either  we 
misunderstood  her,  or  else  the  name  is  very 
irreverent. 

Kronenburg  Park  furnishes  a  beautiful  drive. 
It  contains  a  picturesque  rockery  and  waterfall 
and  one  of  the  sixteen  towers  which  once 
strengthened  the  town  walls.  We  had  to  drive 
a  block  out  of  our  way  to  keep  from  crossing 
a  fifteen-foot  strip  of  grass.  We  are  becoming 
so  obedient  to  the  law  that  we  will  be  the 
laughing-stock  of  our  friends  at  home. 

It  takes  two  hours  and  twenty-eight  minutes 
to  get  to  Maastricht,  which  is  the  capital  of  the 
Dutch  portion  of  Limburg — the  part  that  has 
the  holes  in  it. 

This  is  a  wheat-growing  district  The  wheat 
is  in  shocks,  eight  bundles  to  a  shock,  each  tied 
by  hand,  and  placed  in  pyramids  with  wide 
bases,  permitting  free  circulation  of  air.  Our 
compact  method  of  placing  the  bundles  would 
never  do  in  this  rainy  country.  Of  course  it 


Farewell  to  Holland  139 

is  not  so  easily  shocked  as  at  home,  but  appar- 
ently nothing  in  Holland  is.  Two  men  are 
cutting  wheat  in  a  field,  while  a  woman  is 
binding  up  the  sheaves. 

We  did  not  stay  long  in  Maastricht.  We 
could  not.  No  one  in  town  would  cash  our 
express-orders.  Our  driver  nearly  kept  us  over 
another  train  by  almost  forcing  us  to  drive 
through  a  park,  but  we  detected  his  scheme 
in  the  nick  of  time,  and  caught  the  train  for 
Aix-la-Chapelle.  This  is  our  first  hot  day.  We 
pass  more  wheat  fields  and  clover  patches,  and 
the  tracks  are  bordered  with  a  riot  of  wild 
flowers,  waving  poppies  for  red  flags. 

When  we  reach  Aix-la-Chapelle  it  turns  out 
to  be  Aachen,  and  we  find  ourselves  on  German 
soil.  We  crossed  the  frontier  at  Zemplerend, 
went  through  the  empty  formality  of  a  customs 
examination  in  a  stuffy  baggage-room,  carried 
our  suit-cases  the  length  of  a  long  depot,  set 
our  watches  ahead  an  hour,  and  settled  our- 
selves for  a  good  night's  rest. 

As  Aachen  is  not  on  our  itinerary,  and  is  in 
neither  of  the  countries  which  we  started  out 
to  visit,  we  will  not  attempt  to  do  or  see  any- 


140  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

thing  for  a  few  hours,  except  a  German  vaude- 
ville. 

Desiring  a  hotel  near  the  station,  we  selected 
the  Hotel  du  Nord  as  having  the  most  gilt 
on  its  sign,  but  we  did  not  stay  long.  The 
concierge  showed  us  to  a  bathroom  with  a  bed 
in  it,  or  a  bedroom  with  a  bathtub  in  it — we 
are  not  sure  which.  At  any  rate,  we  were 
afraid  that  coming  into  that  candle-dimmed 
apartment  after  the  vaudeville  we  might  con- 
fuse the  bed  and  the  tub.  The  tub  was  whiter 
than  the  bed,  but  not  so  hard. 

So  our  patient  porter  carries  our  effects  to 
the  Berliner,  and  we  take  up  our  abode  in  the 
least  desirable  quarters  we  have  seen  since 
landing,  except  those  we  just  left  at  the  du 
Nord;  We  will  not  photograph  this  interior, 
nor  describe  it.  The  double  bed  is  against 
three  of  the  four  walls,  and  we  climb  in  over 
the  foot  of  it.  There  is  a  single  electric  bulb 
above  our  heads,  but  the  room  looks  clean,  and 
we  are  tired,  and  so  we  keep  it. 

After  dinner  we  go  to  Bernart's  Theatre  (no 
relation  to  Sara),  where  the  concierge  assures 
us  "It  is  for  to  laugh."  We  had  an  excellent 
dinner  for  thirty-six  cents  each.  We  could  have 


A   STREET   SCENE  IN  NYMWEGEN 


Farewell  to  Holland  141 

had  the  ordinary  table  d'hote  for  twenty-four 
cents,  but  felt  like  celebrating  our  arrival  on 
German  soil. 

The  evening  entertainment  did  not  entertain 
us.  There  was  a  one-act  German  comedy  fol- 
lowed by  four  very  bad  specialties,  culminating 
in  a  German  cakewalk.  Those  who  remained 
were  given  another  comedy,  but  we  thought 
that  we  could  sleep  more  comfortably  at  the 
hotel. 

We  were  mistaken.  The  cafe  of  our  hotel 
was  occupied  by  a  noisy  crowd  that  did  not 
disperse  until  long  after  we  had  retired. 

Then,  just  as  I  was  slipping  into  dreamland, 
a  heavily  shod  man  and  woman  could  be  heard 
approaching  from  the  end  of  the  street.  They 
came  nearer  and  nearer,  with  fearful  distinct- 
ness on  those  narrow  brick  pavements.  They 
stopped  at  our  door  and  rang  the  bell  until 
they  woke  everyone  in  the  house,  finishing  with 
the  porter,  and,  after  some  colloquy,  were 
admitted. 

A  half  hour  later  three  men  came  down  the 
block  and  pulled  our  bell  handle,  which  by 
this  time  must  have  been  hanging  out  a  foot. 
One  was  taken  and  the  others  left.  And  so  it 


142  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

went  all  night,  while  through  my  brain  chased 
memories  of  the  footsteps  in  "The  Tale  of  Two 
Cities,''  and  my  sleep  was  full  of  tumbrils  and 
guillotines. 

In  the  morning  we  found  a  bank  and  cashed 
an  express-order.  The  banking  hours  on  the 
Continent  are  from  nine  to  twelve  in  the 
morning  and  from  three  to  five  in  the  after- 
noon. We  almost  lost  our  luggage  when  we 
embarked  for  Liege.  The  porter  took  one  path 
and  we  another  to  the  platform.  Minutes 
passed  and  he  did  not  appear.  I  did  not  know 
his  number  nor  his  intentions.  Finally,  when 
it  only  lacked  a  few  minutes  of  train  time,  I 
rushed  back  to  the  baggage-room,  saw  our  suit- 
cases on  the  counter,  grabbed  them  and  ran 
for  the  exit,  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances  of 
the  baggage-man  and  porters. 


Liege  143 


XVII 
Liege 

T  is  only  twenty-two  minutes  ride  to 
Liege,  but  we  travel  in  a  sleeping-car. 
It  is  our  first  continental  sleeper,  and 
we  may  have  no  business  in  it;  but  I  have 
gulden  in  one  trousers-pocket,  francs  in  the 
other,  dollar  bills  and  express-orders  in  my 
innermost  vest-pocket,  and  marks  all  over  me, 
and  am  feeling  reckless.  I  am  an  international 
bank  of  exchange. 

A  guard  struck  me  for  extra  fare  for  the 
sleeper.  I  adopted  our  usual  practice  of  giving 
him  my  largest  piece  and  waiting  for  the 
change. 

The  first  thing  that  caught  our  eye  in  our 
compartment  was  a  seventy-two-page  pam- 
phlet issued  by  the  Belgian  government — 
"The  Truth  About  the  Congo,"  in  English, 
French  and  German. 

In  1876,  Leopold  called  a  geographical  con- 


144  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

ference  at  Brussels  and  equipped  four  expedi- 
tions to  Africa.  About  this  time  Stanley 
reached  the  mouth  of  the  Congo.  Leopold 
took  him  in  on  the  ground  floor  and  proceeded 
to  carry  civilization  and  annihilation  into 
Africa.  The  Congo  state  was  recognized  in 
1884,  when  Europe  fell  into  line  and  guaran- 
teed the  title.  It  has  an  area  of  nine  hundred 
thousand  square  miles  and  a  population  of 
twenty  million,  and  yet  Belgium  bosses  it.  If 
a  smaller  dog  ever  had  a  bigger  tail,  I  never 
heard  of  it.  Belgium  had  to  spread  out.  Her 
seven  million  people  were  crowding  her  less 
than  twelve  thousand  square  miles. 

Rubber  is  Congo's  chief  export.  Five  thou- 
sand tons  were  shipped  out  in  1902,  worth 
seven  and  a  half  million  dollars. 

But  think  of  it,  you  who  groan  when  part  of 
your  substance  is  taken  from  you  by  unright- 
eous monopoly  and  irresponsible  power !  Here 
is  a  whole  country  exploited,  and  just  enough 
thrown  back  to  the  real  owners  and  real  labor- 
ers to  keep  them  in  working  condition. 

They  tell  a  humorous  story  in  the  West 
about  a  man  who  advertised  for  a  thousand 
men  and  boys  who  wanted  work.  To  each 


Liege      145 

applicant  he  gave  a  spear  and  a  coil  of  rope, 
and  told  him  to  go  to  the  Missouri  River, 
which  was  on  its  annual  rampage,  and  catch 
all  the  driftwood  he  could,  offering  him  half 
of  all  he  caught.  It  was  only  a  funny  story. 
But  would -it  have  been  funny  if  the  river  had 
been  the  property  of  these  men  and  boys  and 
they  had  been  required  to  furnish  their  own 
spears,  and  had  only  received  a  tithe  of  the 
results  of  their  labor?  That  is  what  Leopold 
is  doing  to  the  Congo  Free  State. 

The  pamphlet  is  subdivided  into  four  heads : 
I.  The  Congo  Reforms. 
II.  The  Letter  of  the  King  Sovereign. 

III.  The  Decrees. 

IV.  Comments  of  the  Press. 

Belgium  has  evidently  been  stung  out  of  her 
attitude  of  silence  by  outside  criticism,  in  addi- 
tion to  which  she  probably  has  anti-imperialists 
at  home. 

We  are  going  through  the  garden  spot  of 
the  world,  the  Meuse  Valley,  and  approaching 
the  Forest  of  the  Ardennes.  It  is  better  to  visit 
Belgium  after  visiting  Holland.  The  reverse 
itinerary  would  make  Holland  seem  pretty  flat. 
We  pass  another  custom-house  at  Hervesthal. 


146  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

Holland  is  so  small  that  we  had  to  go  into  Ger- 
many to  turn  around  without  knocking  over  a 
windmill. 

They  build  rivers  differently  in  the  low  coun- 
tries from  the  method  pursued  at  home.  The 
Mississippi,  for  example,  is  fed  by  countless 
streams,  and  widens  and  becomes  larger  as  it 
approaches  the  Gulf.  The  Meuse  and  the 
Rhine,  when  they  reach  the  shifting  soil  of  the 
Netherlands,  split  into  numerous  branches  as 
they  near  the  coast  and  empty  into  the  North 
Sea  by  countless  mouths. 

Liege  (two  syllables,  please)  is  the  capital 
of  the  Walloon  district,  is  a  university  town, 
and  has  one  hundred  and  sixty  four  thousand 
people.  Its  university  is  about  a  hun- 
dred years  old  and  is  the  headquarters 
of  the  Roman  Catholic  party.  Its  chief  indus- 
tries are  coal  mining  and  the  manufacture  of 
arms.  Its  people  are  insubordinate  to  authority 
and  stiffer-necked  than  the  Ghenters.  Between 
here  and  Namur  is  a  chain  of  twelve  forts  by 
which  this  portion  of  the  Meuse  Valley  is 
guarded  against  German  invasion.  They  cost 
twenty  million  dollars,  but  they  are  insuffi- 
ciently manned  and  officered.  Many  of  the 


Liege 147 

officers  sleep  in  the  towns,  leaving  the  forts  at 
dinner-time.  Some  time  some  one  will  be  rude 
enough  to  attack  them  after  office  hours,  and 
the  next  day  there  will  be  a  sign  out,  "This 
place  has  changed  hands." 

Seraing  is  .to  Liege  what  the  stock-yards  are 
to  Chicago — the  source  of  its  wealth  and  a 
great  show  place  for  visitors,  but  not  attractive. 
John  Cockerill,  an  Englishman,  founded  this 
suburb  in  1816. 

In  1468,  Charles  the  Bold,  having  failed  to 
convert  the  town  to  his  religious  ideas,  con- 
verted it  to  ashes,  leaving  only  the  monasteries 
and  churches  untouched.  In  1482,  Charles' 
bishop,  Louis  of  Bourbon,  was  murdered  by 
de  la  Marck,  "the  wild  boar  of  the  Ardennes," 
who  wished  to  obtain  the  mitre  for  one  of  his 
own  litter. 

I  had  to  set  my  poor  abused  watch  back  an 
hour  when  we  entered  Belgium.  We  were 
treated  so  gently  by  the  customs  officers  that 
we  did  not  know  when  we  passed.  So  B.  was 
perfectly  excusable  when  she  threw  open  the 
suit-cases  for  the  train  guard's  inspection. 

In  a  carriage  at  Liege,  the  first  thing  that 
attracted  our  attention  was  a  statue  commemo- 


148  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

rating  the  seventy-fifth  anniversary  of  the  revo- 
lution of  1830,  by  which  Holland  got  rid  of 
Belgium.  This  is  a  legacy  of  the  Exposition 
of  1905,  which  celebrated  the  same  event.  No 
student  of  political  or  religious  history  is  sur- 
prised at  the  separation  of  two  countries  so 
dissimilar  in  temperament,  politics  and  reli- 
gion. They  make  excellent  neighbors  when  not 
tied  together.  Farther  along  the  Avenue 
Rogier  is  a  handsome  terrace  with  four  bronze 
groups.  On  the  north  of  the  Pare  d'Avroy  is 
an  equestrian  statue  of  Charlemagne,  who  con- 
ferred upon  Liege  its  first  privileges. 

B.  alighted  to  take  some  pictures.  I  could 
not  stand  it  any  longer.  I  had  been  making 
signs  and  struggling  along  without  a  single 
verb  for  ten  days  in  Holland,  but  here  I  was 
at  home.  I  can  talk  French.  I  said,  "//  fait 
tres  chaud"  to  the  driver.  Fatal  mistake !  He 
launched  into  voluble  French,  doubtless  ex- 
plaining that  this  was  the  hottest  summer  Liege 
has  had  for  years,  or  words  to  that  effect ;  and 
I  could  only  look  affable  and  murmur,  "Old" 
and  "Sans  doutc."  The  next  time  I  strike  a 
Belgian  who  is  keeping  still,  I  will  not  unplug 
him. 


Liege  149 

Part  of  the  Church  of  St.  Jacques  dates  from 
1163,  and  the  older  part  is  easily  distinguished 
from  the  newer,  which  was  built  in  1513.  It 
has  beautiful  windows,  in  many  of  which  the 
faces  of  donors  mingle  with  the  others  around 
the  biblical  groups.  The  elaborate  stone 
carving  of  the  choir  has  been  cheapened  and 
spoiled  by  being  painted  in  bright  colors,  until 
it  looks  like  some  of  the  stick  candy  recently 
legislated  out  of  existence  by  the  pure- food  law. 

In  St.  Paul's,  mass  was  being  celebrated  and 
the  floors  scrubbed  at  the  same  time — a  strange 
mixture  of  cleanliness  and  godliness.  Those 
kneeling  in  front  of  the  altar  are  watching  us 
from  the  corners  of  their  eyes  and  making 
the  sign  of  the  cross  whenever  the  bell  rings. 
They  are  confident  that  the  matter  needs  no 
attention  on  their  part,  so  nobody  works  but  his 
reverence. 

We  look  up  at  the  most  beautiful  vaulted 
roof  imaginable,  and,  as  Belgium  has  always 
been  Catholic,  no  part  of  the  church  has  been 
marred  by  the  iconoclasts. 

We  were  conducted  into  the  treasury,  where 
we  saw  the  vaults  containing  massive  articles 


150  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

of  gold  and  silver  and  the  tibia  of  St.  Lambert 
and  sections  of  other  saints. 

The  court  of  the  Palais  de  Justice  is  its  most 
beautiful  part.  The  palace  is  the  King's  resi- 
dence when  he  visits  Liege.  The  interior  looks 
pretty  cheap  after  our  hotel  room  at  Arnhem. 
It  has  a  dining-room  in  which,  to  quote  a 
German  friend,  the  King  can  "eat  eighty 
people." 

The  Montague  de  Bueren  is  a  street  of  six 
hundred  ascending  steps,  up  and  down  which 
people  are  passing.  We  drive  to  the  Church 
of  St.  Barthelemy,  a  twelfth-century  basilica, 
gray  with  age,  and  containing  an  interesting 
font  borne  on  the  backs  of  ten  oxen,  and  with 
handsome  relief  carving.  There  are  chimes  in 
the  two  towers. 

Near  it  the  magnificent  Pont  des  Arches 
spans  the  river  with  five  arches  adorned  with 
statuary. 

We  spend  an  hour  in  the  Musee  des  Beaux 
Arts  and  find  many  attractive  paintings  and 
sculptures.  Then,  having  seen  about  all  of 
Liege  but  the  university,  we  drive  about  aim- 
lessly until  half-past  four. 

After  returning  to  our  hotel  we  fool  around 


STHKET    OF    SIX    HUNDRED    STEPS— LIEGE 


Liege  151 

an  ''Automatic  Cafe"  for  a  while,  dropping  ten- 
centime  pieces  into  various  slots  and  obtaining 
sundry  articles  of  food  and  drink.  If  you 
desire,  you  may  have  the  choice  of  several 
varieties  of  meats  and  sandwiches,  not  to  men- 
tion different  and  indifferent  wines,  beer  and 
schnapps. 

\Ye  dropped  a  coin  into  a  porcelain  hen,  just 
above  the  wish-bone,  and  were  rewarded  by 
several  clucks,  an  eggful  of  chocolate  sweets, 
and  a  fair  imitation  of  a  rooster's  crow. 

In  the  evenings  we  visit  a  Cafe  Chantant, 
much  frequented  by  students  and  grisettes. 
Our  waiter  is  a  colored  man,  a  native  of 
Canada,  who  speaks  five  languages.  His 
English  is  like  that  of  a  Londoner,  and  has  not 
a  hint  of  darkey  dialect.  He  is  saving  his 
money  to  return  to  the  United  States  and  be  a 
Pullman  porter.  Heaven  is  probably  full  of 
darkeys  who  would  return  to  earth  cheerfully 
if  they  could  don  the  beloved  uniform. 

We  sat  in  the  balcony  which  runs  around 
the  four  sides  of  the  room.  Those  opposite 
us  are  right  over  the  stage  and  cannot  see  it 
at  all,  but  by  a  combination  of  mirrors  they 
can  see  the  performance  by  reflection. 


152  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

The  program  stated  that  the  orchestra  is 
playing  "Tou jours  ou  Jamais,"  by  Waldteufel, 
but  the  air  is  unmistakably  "Biddy  McGee." 

We  only  survived  one  vocal  number,  and 
went  out  into  the  falling  rain  and,  finding  a 
cab,  shouted  until  the  driver  left  the  neighbor- 
ing shelter  and  took  us  to  the  hotel. 


The  Meuse  Valley  153 


XVIII 
The  Meuse  Valley 

ROM  Liege  we  went  to  Huy.  It  looked 
for  a  while  as  though  we  would  not 
succeed  in  our  efforts  to  buy  a  railroad 
ticket.  We  called  it  "High"  and  "Hoo"  and 
"Hooey,"  and  were  about  to  give  it  up  and  go 
to  some  other  town,  when  it  occurred  to  us  to 
write  "Huy''  on  a  piece  of  paper  and  shove 
it  at  the  ticket  agent.  "Oh !  Oui,  Hwee,"  he 
said,  and  sold  us  the  tickets.  We  are  in  a 
through  Paris  train,  so  clean  and  cool  and 
French,  with  its  dove-colored  upholstery.  Our 
road  passes  through  the  Borinage,  the  mining 
section  of  Belgium,  where  life  is  cheap,  vice 
rampant,  and  labor  underpaid.  Women  and 
children  work  in  the  mines,  and  women  clean 
the  streets.  The  miners  work  fourteen  or 
fifteen  hours  a  day  and  get  little  pleasure  from 
their  beautiful  surroundings.  The  guide-book 
says  that  the  scenery  hereabouts  is  "pretty  and 


154  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

rocky" ;  and  to  the  miner  life  must  seem  the 
same,  with  the  "and"  silent. 

At  Huy  we  found  a  carriage  at  the  station 
and  drove  across  the  bridge  that  spans  the 
Meuse  (or  Maas)  River.  In  front  of  us  rises 
a  high  green  hill  crowned  by  a  formidable 
looking  citadel,  parts  of  which  are  formed  by 
the  solid  rock  as  it  lies  in  the  quarry,  so  that 
fortress  and  hill  are  welded  together  in  one 
inseparable  mass. 

The  Collegiate  Church  on  our  right  is  a  per- 
fect Gothic  gem  which  was  begun  in  1311  and 
restored  in  1611  after  a  disastrous  fire.  In  its 
setting  of  hills  and  trees  it  forms  a  picture 
never  to  be  forgotten.  Within  the  church,  we 
admire  the  beautiful  windows  and  study  the 
votive  offerings  hung  around  the  altar.  In 
the  entrance  is  a  queer  life-size  wooden  statue 
of  St.  Joseph  breaking  his  neck  to  look  at  the 
child  on  his  shoulder,  while  the  child  is  holding 
up  two  fingers  and  staring  straight  ahead  with 
such  a  peculiar  expression  that  it  makes  us 
smile.  It  is  probably  very  old  and  therefore 
entitled  to  admiration,  but  anatomically  it  is  a 
remarkable  production. 

It  is  market  day  in  Huy  and  our  way  is 


The  Meuse  Valley  155 

constantly  obstructed  by  cattle,  sheep  and  hogs. 
We  drive  up  to  the  market  place,  where  we 
squeeze  in  among  the  quadrupeds  and  their 
owners,  the  latter  in  smock  frocks  and  carrying 
long  whips.  As  each  beast  is  inspected  a  bar- 
gain is  concluded,  apparently  without  resort  to 
scales,  and  the  animal  is  marched  off  by  his 
purchaser.  Pigs  are  marked  with  red  paint 
when  their  ownership  changes. 

We  drive  down  a  steep  hill,  past  a  residence 
which  has  lace  curtains  painted  on  the  window 
panes,  through  the  dusty  little  park  at  whose 
head  stands  a  Lincoln-like  statue  of  Joseph  Le 
Beau,  a  statesman  of  the  former  century. 

Peter  the  Hermit  died  at  Huy  in  1115  and 
was  buried  there.  Peter  tried  several  pursuits 
and  failed  in  all  of  them  before  he  concluded 
to  be  a  hermit.  His  preaching  was  instru- 
mental in  forming  the  first  Crusade.  He  was 
a  much  better  preacher  than  warrior,  and  could 
move  others  to  deeds  of  heroism  in  which  he 
took  little  part. 

Between  Huy  and  Namur  we  have  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  of  rugged  scenery,  with 
rocks  sculptured  by  the  forces  of  nature  into 
castles  and  fortresses.  Namur  is  the  capital  of 


156  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

the  province  of  Namur.  It  is  not  a  large  city, 
but  it  is  superbly  situated  at  the  junction  of 
the  Meuse  and  the  Sambre. 

In  the  Cathedral  lies  the  heart  of  Don  John 
of  Austria,  who  died  in  camp  near  here.  It 
is  covered  by  a  tombstone  erected  by  Alexander 
Farnese.  Don  John  came  to  the  Netherlands 
flushed  with  his  victory  over  the  Turks  at 
Lepanto,  to  lead  in  a  disheartening  and  fore- 
doomed war  against  right  and  truth.  He  was 
even  denied  the  glory  of  dying  in  battle,  and 
many  hint  that  he  was  poisoned  by  order  of  his 
own  half  brother,  Phillip  II.  There  is  no 
question  as  to  Phillip's  jealousy  of  his  hand- 
some and  dashing  relative,  and  he  was  probably 
selected  to  take  command  of  the  Spanish  army 
in  the  Netherlands  in  order  to  dim  the  luster 
achieved  at  Lepanto. 

The  cathedral  contains  a  magnificent  altar 
of  carved  wood  representing  the  Virgin  pro- 
tecting he  city.  As  Namur  has  been  battered 
to  the  ground  on  several  occasions,  one  might 
question  the  efficacy  of  the  protection  afforded. 

A  bridge  with  a  graceful  arch  spans  the 
Sambre  and  at  its  keystone  it  narrows  to  such 
slender  proportions  as  to  make  it  look  unequal 


The  Meuse  Valley  157 

to  the  traffic  it  bears.  It  is  a  foot  bridge 
approached  by  steps,  and  is  not  used  by  ve- 
hicles. 

Namur  looks  like  a  small,  a  very  small  Paris. 
It  has  five-story  buildings  and  its  ladies  dress 
in  the  latest  mode. 

Less  than  an  hour's  ride  brings  us  to  Dinant. 
When  we  reached  the  depot  at  Namur  we  had 
half  an  hour  to  wait  for  a  train,  so  we  foolishly 
went  into  the  dining  room  before  buying  our 
railroad  tickets.  When  we  had  finished  our 
lunch  and  had  ten  minutes  to  spare  we  returned 
to  the  ticket  window  only  to  find  the  room 
occupied  by  a  howling  mob  of  several  hundred. 

We  managed  to  buy  tickets  and  get  our  lug- 
gage in  time,  but  the  ticket  seller's  gruff 
"Allez"  was  superfluous.  We  had  to  "Allez" 
to  make  connections. 

Our  train  passes  miles  of  seamy,  dry  rocks 
without  a  sign  of  the  pretty  waterfalls  which 
gladden  the  eye  of  the  traveler  in  Switzerland. 
The  caverns  hereabouts  are  the  traditional 
headquarters  of  gnomes.  Nothing  but  legends 
flourish  in  these  hills,  but  they  do  grow  some 
pretty  tall  stories.  This  part  of  Belgium  is  as 
rich  in  tales  of  chivalry  and  deviltry  as  any 


158  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

part  of  the  Rhine  from  Cologne  to  Mayence. 
The  stories  are  fully  as  thrilling  and  the  setting 
much  more  picturesque.  An  occasional  ruined 
chateau  hangs  to  the  top  of  a  perpendicular 
cliff.  We  do  not  stop  at  Dinant,  but  arrange 
at  the  depot  for  a  round  trip  to  Rochefort  and 
the  wonderful  grottoes  of  Han-sur-Lesse.  It 
looks  showery  and  we  know  of  no  form  of 
sight-seeing  better  adapted  to  rainy  weather 
than  exploring  grottoes.  The  character  of  the 
cliffs  we  are  now  passing  gives  hints  of  queer 
things  to  come.  The  rocks  have  stared  at  the 
hot  sun  until  they  are  wrinkled  into  frowns, 
while  other  strata  stand  on  end  like  chimneys. 
We  have  selected  an  accommodation  train  un- 
fortunately. It  has  more  stops  than  the  Harlem 
organ.  Once  we  chuckled  in  glee  when  the 
engineer  passed  one  section  house  without  a 
pause.  But  we  were  premature.  He  stopped 
a  half  mile  beyond  and  went  back. 


The  Grotto  of  Han  159 


XIX 


T  Rochefort  we  are  put  into  a  small 
carriage  bound  for  the  cavern.  Our 
companion  on  the  ride  is  a  mature 
matron,  an  American,  who  tells  her  troubles  in 
loud,  nasal  English  to  every  Belgian  she  meets. 
She  bought  a  ticket  which  entitled  her  to  a 
ride  all  the  way  to  the  grotto  via  tram  car,  but 
climbed  into  the  wrong  train  and  has  to  pay 
extra  for  a  carriage.  She  attributes  this  ex- 
pense to  foreign  cupidity,  whereas  it  is  due  to 
native  stupidity.  But  the  patience  with  which 
innumerable  innocent  bystanders  bear  with  her 
attacks  is  a  lesson  in  endurance  and  courtesy. 
\Ye  are  pretty  near  ready  to  give  up  our 
grotto  after  an  hour  and  forty  minutes  of  her 
grumbling  society  behind  a  sleepy  horse  on  a 
dusty  road.  You  finally  reach  a  sort  of  tavern 
where  you  leave  the  carriage  and  buy  your 
tickets — two  miles  from  the  entrance — and  are 


160  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

turned  loose  on  foot  to  find  your  way  without 
a  guide.  You  first  discover  the  place  where 
the  river  enters  the  cave  and  loiter  around  it 
awhile.  Then  you  explore  farther  and  strike 
the  real  entrance.  Near  it  are  a  closed  lemon- 
ade stand  and  some  wooden  benches,  but  no 
sign  of  a  guide.  You  sit  down  and  wait. 
Finally  two  guides  appear  and  you  start  on  a 
journey  of  an  hour  and  a  half  through  an 
underground  wonderland  that  makes  you  for- 
get all  the  troublesome  preliminaries.  It  is 
useless  to  attempt  description.  Every  fanciful 
form  that  can  be  wrought  by  the  action  of 
water  and  the  precipitation  of  stalactite  and 
stalagmite  is  there.  If  only  Cook  &  Sons 
would  take  hold  of  the  Han  Grotto  and  remove 
its  unnecessary  inconveniences  they  could 
double  its  patronage  and  reduce  its  discomforts 
to  nil.  We  may  not  approve  of  "personally 
conducted  parties,"  but  they  are  better  than 
permanently  neglected  ones. 

In  describing  the  cave  permit  me  to  sub- 
stitute for  my  own  inadequate  vocabulary  a 
few  gems  from  the  book  sold  by  the  guides. 

"The  Grotto  of  Han!     What  a  wonderful 


NOTRE   DAME   AND   CITADEL   AT  DIXAXT 
BRUSSELS 


The  Grotto  of  Han  161 

scenery,  what  enrapturing  enchantments  are 
called  up  by  this  name  alone !" 

"The  electric  light  which  has  recently  been 
placed  in  some  halls  projects  glares  of  entranc- 
ing beauty  in  those  gloomy  caverns." 

"The  water  (of  the  Lesse  River),  which 
disappears  in  flokky  (  !)  bubblings,  does  not 
issue  from  the  mountain  until  it  has  reached 
the  Hole  of  Han,  after  a  mysterious  passage 
of  eight  to  twenty  hours,  though  the  distance 
be  only  1138  metres." 

"Oftentimes  the  experience  of  it  was  made 
by  throwing  coloring  matter  into  the  water." 

"Half  a  score  of  comely  girls  surround  us; 
each  of  them  holds  a  lamp-post  with  two  lamps 
in  her  hand." 

"In  the  Gallery  of  the  Precipice  there  are 
two  rich  obelisks,  the  tops  of  which  disappear 
in  the  anfractuosities  of  the  vault."  That's 
right ;  we  saw  them  do  it. 

"Some  tunes  played  by  the  droplets  enhance 
the  pleasantness  of  your  walk." 

A  few  names  of  these  halls  and  formations 
will  suggest  their  weird  beauty  to  the  reader: 
The  Mysteries,  the  Mosque,  the  Trophy,  the 
Tiara,  the  Alhambra,  the  Sieve  of  the  Danaides 


1 62  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

and,  grandest  of  all,  the  Hall  of  Dome.  This 
is  the  last  word  in  cave  sculpture.  In  it  stands 
a  pyramid  168  feet  high,  a  mountain  within  a 
mountain.  In  this  one  room  half  a  million  cubic 
meters  of  rock  have  dissolved  from  the  core  of 
the  mountain.  It  is  170  yards  long,  150  wide, 
and  220  yards  high.  Three  fifteen-story  "sky 
scrapers"  could  be  piled  one  above  the  other 
in  this  monster  cavern  and  not  even  scrape  the 
under  surface  of  the  hill  top  above  you. 

One  guide  descends  to  the  bank  of  the  sub- 
marine river  which  cuts  a  channel  through  this 
portion  of  the  grotto,  and  another  clambers  to 
the  top,  leaving  us  about  one-fourth  of  the  way 
up.  At  a  signal  each  one  kindles  a  bengal 
light  and  we  get  a  good  idea  of  the  immensity 
of  the  Salle  du  Dome. 

After  an  hour  and  a  half  of  walking,  we 
leave  the  cave  by  means  of  a  row  boat  on  the 
waters  of  the  Lesse.  When  you  are  seated  in 
the  boat  a  cannon  is  fired — but  why  need  I 
struggle  with  its  description.  Hearken  to  the 
guide  book ! 

"The  cannon  shot  was  scarcely  announced 
when  a  tremendous  rumbling  shakes  the  whole 
grotto,  reverberates  from  hall  to  hall,  and, 


The  Grotto  of  Han  163 

growing  fainter  and  fainter,  dwindles  away 
far  off  with  a  thousand  sonorous  vibrations." 
After  which  we  land  safely  on  the  banks  of 
the  river  and  are  left  to  guess  our  way  to  the 
village  of  Han,  where  we  manage  to  evade  our 
American  friend  and  clamber  into  a  bus  which 
takes  us  back  to  Rochefort. 


164  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


XX 

Dinant  and  a  Glimpse  of  France 

FTER  an  excellent  dinner  at  Rochefort, 
seasoned  by  our  afternoon's  work  we 
return  to  Dinant,  pick  up  our  baggage 
in  the  check  room  and  try  to  find  a  hotel.  The 
Tete  d'Or,  starred  by  Baedeker,  had  a  runner 
at  the  station,  but  no  bus.  Some  of  our  fellow 
passengers  allowed  him  to  put  their  belongings 
on  a  push  cart  and  trudged  away  behind  him. 
The  Hotel  des  Ardennes  had  a  bus  there,  and 
as  it  was  past  ten  o'clock  we  climbed  in  and 
drove  for  several  minutes,  only  to  find  the 
hotel  full.  Query :  Why  do  European  hotels 
so  frequently  haul  you  for  blocks  when  they 
have  not  a  vacant  room  in  the  house,  and  did 
not  have  when  the  bus  went  to  the  station  ? 

They  kindly  drove  us  to  the  Hotel  des  Postes 
where  we  have  an  excellent  room  on  the 
entresol,  looking  out  over  the  Meuse  and  at  the 
citadel  on  its  opposite  bank.  Framed  by  the 


Dinant  and  a  Glimpse  of  France     165 

steep  rock  which  supports  the  old  fortress  is 
the  Church  of  Notre  Dame.  Back  of  it  are 
four  hundred  and  eight  steps  leading  up  the 
rock  to  the  citadel.  As  usual  we  are  greeted 
each  quarter  of  an  hour  by  melodious  chimes 
from  the  belfry. 

There  is  a  beautiful  drive  along  the  Meuse 
through  a  doorway  in  the  solid  cliff.  One  side 
of  this  is  the  Rock  of  Bayard.  Bayard  was  a 
horse  belonging  to  the  four  sons  of  Aymon. 
He  was  possessed  of  magical  attributes,  and 
among  his  lesser  achievements  was  that  of 
jumping  over  the  Meuse  Valley  from  this  rock, 
leaving  a  hoof  mark  as  evidence  of  his  feat. 
Some  people  might  doubt  this  story  but  for 
the  hoof  mark,  but  we  did  not  because  we  once 
saw  the  place  in  Wisconsin,  near  Kilbourn 
City,  where  Black  Hawk's  horse  leapt  across 
the  Wisconsin  River.  It  was  not  so  wide  as 
the  Meuse,  but  it  was  not  a  bad  jump  for  a 
broncho.  Besides,  the  Black  Hawk  story  is  a 
thousand  years  younger  than  the  other  one,  and 
will  undoubtedly  grow  as  time  passes  on. 

Charlemagne  finally  captured  Bayard  and 
weighted  him  with  stones  and  threw  him  into 
the  water.  But  he  shook  himself  free  from  his 


1 66  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

encumbrances,  swam  ashore  and,  with  a  defiant 
neigh,  disappeared  into  the  Arden  forest, 
which  he  roams  to  this  day. 

One  of  the  Aymon  boys,  Renault,  kept  up 
his  outlaw  career  as  long  as  he  could,  and  when 
he  could  no  longer  plunder  by  force,  became  a 
monk  and  was  canonized. 

Dinant  is  noted  for  its  chased  copper  ware 
and  its  ginger  bread.  This  latter  named  article 
adorns  countless  shop  windows  and  much  skill 
is  shown  in  the  formation  of  fanciful  designs. 

From  Dinant  we  go  to  Givet.  We  are  again 
surprised  by  the  customs  officials  at  Heer- 
Agimont  and  find  that  we  are  unintentionally 
in  France.  From  Givet  it  is  only  forty-eight 
minutes  to  Sedan,  the  big  battle  field  of  the 
Franco-Prussian  war,  so  disastrous  to  French 
arms.  As  Waterloo,  the  scene  of  another 
French  defeat,  is  on  our  itinerary,  we  conclude 
not  to  visit  Sedan. 

We  do  not  stay  in  Givet  long,  but  after 
luncheon  proceed  to  Charleroi.  This  train 
takes  two  hours  to  go  thirty-one  miles,  and 
should  transfer  its  cow  catcher  to  the  rear  car. 
We  believe  that  we  change  cars  at  Chatelineau, 
but  we  are  not  certain  and  we  do  not  care. 


THE   ROCK  OF   BAYARD — DINANT 


Dinant  and  a  Glimpse  of  France      167 

These  countries  are  so  small  that  we  could 
start  all  over  again  if  we  lost  ourselves  and 
then  make  the  circuit. 

We  soon  go  back  to  Belgium  and  through 
another  custom  house.  Leopold  will  have  to 
buy  some  more  chalk  when  his  customs  officials 
get  through  marking  up  our  baggage.  You 
need  a  balance  pole  to  keep  from  stepping  over 
the  wavy  line  which  divides  these  two  by  four 
countries. 

On  this  train  is  posted  the  following  notice : 
"It  is  formally  and  under  penalty  of  a  fine  pro- 
hibited to  deposit  in  the  nets  of  the  carriages 
any  parcel  the  accidental  fall  of  which  might 
expose  the  passengers  to  be  injured." 


1 68  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


XXI 

Charleroi  and  Mons 

E   reach      Charleroi     safely,    having 
changed  cars  successfully.  As  we  have 
also  refused  a  piece  of  bad  money  we 
feel  that  we  are  very  knowing  travelers. 

B.  thinks  she  has  a  joke  on  me.  She  was 
studying  the  time  card  and  asked  me  the  name 
of  the  station  at  which  we  were  stopping.  I 
read  the  name  on  the  end  of  a  building  near 
the  tracks  and  told  her  "Merchandises."  The 
name  is  common  to  all  the  freight  houses  in 
the  country,  so  she  thinks  that  she  has  the 
laugh  on  me. 

Although  we  are  still  in  the  Borinage,  the 
home  of  the  over-worked  and  under-paid  coal 
miner,  we  notice  that  the  bumpers  at  the  end 
of  the  tracks  within  the  stations  are  covered 
with  flowering  vines  or  made  up  into  flower 
beds. 

We  did  not  see  much  of  Charleroi.     We 


Charleroi  and  Mons  169 

drove  about  for  awhile,  but  it  is  a  manufac- 
turing town  with  a  glorious  past  and  a  sooty 
present.  The  day  is  hot  and  we  are  anxious 
to  get  nearer  to  the  sea.  Holland  is  a  much 
better  summer  resort  than  this  portion  of  Bel- 
gium. 

This  section  of  the  country  witnessed  the 
preliminaries  of  the  Battle  of  Waterloo.  Char- 
leroi's  capture  was  Napoleon's  first  step  in  the 
campaign,  and  it  was  successfully  achieved. 
But  it  only  stayed  for  a  moment  his  progress 
from  Elba  to  St.  Helena. 

Mons  is  the  capital  of  Hainault.  Its  Flemish 
name  is  Berghen.  No  chance  for  confusion 
there ! 

Cresar  laid  it  out  and  it  has  been  laid  out 
several  times  since,  but  never  completely  buried. 
For  a  couple  of  centuries,  whenever  a  general 
was  not  busy  he  would  say.  ''Let's  go  and  take 
Mons."  It  has  been  left  alone  for  over  a  hun- 
dred years  now,  and  has  become  a  prosperous 
town.  It  is  the  heart  of  the  Borinage,  or  rather 
the  center  thereof.  The  Borinage  has  no  heart. 
Three-fourths  of  Belgium's  125,000  miners 
live  in  the  Province  of  Hainault.  This  accounts 


170  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

for  the  fact  that  ninety  per  cent  of  the  passen- 
ger cars  in  this  neighborhood  are  third  class. 

The  Church  of  St.  Waltrudis  has  gargoyles 
that  make  those  on  Notre  Dame  in  Paris  look 
like  a  Congress  of  Beauty.  People  in  Mons  go 
to  church  because  once  inside  they  cannot  see 
the  gargoyles,  and  they  can  see  a  most  mag- 
nificent interior.  It  is  three  hundred  and  fifty- 
five  feet  long  and  has  sixty  columns  and  ninety 
windows.  There  are  some  very  handsome 
chapels  in  the  transepts.  The  carriage  in  which 
the  reliquary  is  carried  is  the  most  glittering 
wheeled  vehicle  imaginable.  Our  guide  through 
this  old  church  brings  to  mind  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes  and  one  of  his  inimitable  metaphors : 

"Abbey  churches  are  like  old  cheeses.  They 
have  a  tough  grey  rind  and  a  rich  interior 
which  find  food  and  lodging  for  numerous 
tenants  who  live  and  die  under  their  shelter; 
lowly  servitors,  some  of  them,  holy  ministers 
of  religion  many,  I  doubt  not,  larvae  of  angels, 
who  will  get  their  wings  by  and  by." 

We  climb  to  the  top  of  the  Beffroi,  two 
hundred  and  seventy-five  feet  high,  from  which 
we  get  a  fine  view  of  the  smoking  foundries 


Charleroi  and  Mons  171 

of  Mons.  It  reminds  one  of  Chicago  on  a  clear 
day. 

The  Hotel  de  Ville  was  started  in  1458,  but 
it  is  not  completed.  That  is  a  little  worse 
than  the  public  building  record  in  the  United 
States.  Its.  fagade  has  ten  statues  and  its 
baroque  tower  has  a  curious  combination  clock 
and  sun  dial.  The  small  cast  iron  ape  project- 
ing from  the  wall  to  the  left  of  the  main  en- 
trance has  no  meaning,  but  is  considered  a 
feature  by  the  citizens  and  shown  to  strangers. 
The  lock  of  the  court  yard  gate  is  in  the  form 
of  a  four-turreted  castle,  that  being  the  munici- 
pal coat  of  arms. 

Every  time  our  driver  quits  touching  him 
up  and  turns  around  to  tell  us  something,  his 
horse  stops.  He  is  like  the  old  colored  man 
who  sat  weaving  back  and  forth  in  the  shade 
of  his  cabin.  A  white  passer-by  said :  "What's 
the  matter,  uncle?  Don't  you  feel  well?" 

"Yes,  boss,  I  feels  fust  rate,  but  I  done  been 
to  Atlanta,  and  I  bought  one  of  them  dollah 
watches,  and  if  I  stops  the  watch  stops." 

We  notice  revenue  stamps  on  the  "For  rent" 
signs  placed  in  vacant  buildings.  Very  few 
articles  or  activities  escape  taxation  in  Belgium. 


172  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

We  drove  through  a  long  shady  boulevard 
and  then  asked  the  driver  to  show  us  the 
poorer  neighborhoods,  but  he  intimated  that 
they  were  too  shady. 

There  is  an  equestrian  statue  of  Baldwin  IX. 
at  the  head  of  the  boulevard.  He  headed  the 
fourth  crusade,  but  was  diverted  from  his 
original  purpose  and  used  his  army  for  restor- 
ing Constantinople  to  the  Christians.  Assisted 
by  the  venerable  Dandolo,  a  successful  three 
months'  siege  was  carried  on.  At  its  conclu- 
sion, the  jealousy  of  the  Venetians  prevented 
the  election  of  Dandolo  as  emperor,  and  his 
youthful  contemporary  Baldwin  IX.  of  Flan- 
ders became  Baldwin  I.,  emperor  of  Constanti- 
nople. The  news  of  the  capture  of  Constanti- 
nople was  conveyed  to  Venice  by  carrier 
pigeons,  and  the  descendants  of  these  pigeons 
are  protected  by  law,  and  levy  tribute  on  all 
visitors  to  Venice. 

The  wooden  klompen  in  this  district  is  made 
with  a  leather  strap,  and  sometimes  the  entire 
upper  is  of  leather  with  a  wooden  sole.  Shrines 
are  plentiful  and  have  been  so  ever  since  we 
left  Holland.  Practically  all  of  the  people  of 
Belgium  are  Roman  Catholics,  while  two- 


Charleroi  and  Mons  173 

thirds  of  the  Hollanders  are  Protestants.  It 
is  hard  to  conceive  that  two  such  tiny  kingdoms 
crowded  so  closely  together  should  be  such 
polar  opposites  in  everything — climate,  topog- 
raphy, temperament  and  religion.  As  stated 
before,  the'  only  surprising  thing  about  the 
revolution  of  1830  was  that  it  did  not  come 
sooner. 


174  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


XXII 
Brussels 

E  start  for  Brussels  about  midday.  Our 
compartment  is  shared  by  three  ladies 
in  deep  mourning,  apparently  return- 
ing from  a  funeral.  Their  parasols  are  adorned 
with  crepe.  The  young  woman  of  the  party 
is  not  too  bowed  down  with  grief  over  the 
dead  to  forget  the  admiration  of  the  living, 
for  her  deep  black  gown  is  very  transparent 
in  sleeves  and  yoke.  You  can  see  right  through 
that  sort  of  mourning. 

You  may  be  interested  in  having  a  real  ex- 
ample of  official  politeness.  The  guard  or  con- 
ductor enters  your  compartment,  removes  his 
cap,  and  says,  "Bon  jour,  madame;  bon  jour, 
m'sieu;  les  billets,  s'il  vous  plait." 

I  hand  him  the  tickets. 

"Merci,  bien." 

He  punches  them  and  as  he  hands  them  back, 
murmurs : 


Brussels  175 

"S'il  vous  plait." 

It  is  my  turn,  so  I  say,  "Merci,  bien." 

"Desirez-vous  un  commissionaire  a  Bruxel- 
les?" 

"S'il  vous  plai^"-**vW*4«— 

And  at  Brussels  he  has  a  "commissionaire" 
waiting  for  our  luggage  when  the  train  stops. 

The  ride  to  Brussels  was  clean,  cool  and 
smooth,  through  a  farming  region  like  the  best 
portions  of  rural  France. 

At  the  Hotel  de  1'Europe  we  have  a  suite  of 
two  rooms  at  a  cost  of  twelve  francs  per  day. 
Those  are  metropolitan  prices  and  our  rooms 
are  the  best  in  the  house.  This  hotel  is  on  the 
square — the  public  square.  Our  windows  open 
on  the  square  and  are  only  four  feet  high.  You 
have  to  lie  down  on  the  floor  to  look  out — on 
the  square.  I  am  lying  now  as  I  write. 

In  the  center  of  the  square,  the  Place  Royale, 
stands  an  equestrian  figure  of  Godfrey  of 
Bouillon.  On  that  spot  he  formed  his  first  little 
army  of  crusaders  with  the  cry,  "God  wills  it." 
To  a  few  good  men  it  seemed  intolerable  that 
Jerusalem  and  the  Holy  Sepulchre  should  re- 
main in  the  hands  of  the  Mohammedans.  To 
these  was  added  a  large  number  of  the  scum 


176  Three  \Yeeks  in  Holland 

of  the  earth,  who  were  lured  by  promises  of 
carte  blanche  absolution  for  their  sins.  After 
a  series  of  ebbing  and  flowing  fortunes  they 
captured  Jerusalem  amid  scenes  of  atrocity 
and  slaughter.  Having  recovered  His  grave 
they  buried  therein  all  that  their  Lord  had 
ever  taught  of  love,  peace  and  good  will.  God- 
frey was  the  first  king  of  Jerusalem  elected, 
and  during  his  reign,  there  was  much  righting 
with  the  Mussulman  forces. 

From  Godfrey's  statue  it  is  only  a  few  min- 
utes' walk  down  the  Rue  de  la  Regence  to  the 
Royal  Museum,  with  its  splendid  gallery  of 
old  pictures  and  new.  The  Hall  of  Sculptures 
is  on  the  first  floor.  "Innocence"  is  a  master- 
piece, but  she  is  carved  from  heavily  veined 
marble  that  gives  her  the  appearance  of  having 
had  some  severe  bumps.  If  she  has  been  in 
Brussels  long,  she  probably  has  had  a  few. 

Two  striking  bronzes  attracted  our  attention. 
They  were  figures  of  a  negro  slave.  In  the 
first  he  was  being  bastinadoed  and  in  the  sec- 
ond, called  "Vengeance,"  he  was  crawling  on 
the  ground,  knife  in  hand  and  with  his  face 
drawn  by  the  passion  of  hate  and  revenge.  It 
was  cruelly  well  done. 


Brussels  177 

.  Of  the  paintings,  we  really  enjoyed  Rubens' 
"Adoration  of  the  Magi."  It  seemed  consistent 
throughout,  and  that  is  not  an  ever-present 
virtue  in  Netherland  paintings.  For  example, 
in  his  "Way  to  Golgotha,"  in  the  same  gallery. 
Veronica  is-  dressed  in  a  costume  of  Rubens' 
day  and  country,  and  in  a  picture  near  by,  the 
group  around  the  "Madonna  and  Child"  are 
all  sixteenth  century  burgomasters. 

Rubens'  "Martyrdom  of  St.  Livinius"  is  a 
masterpiece  of  repulsiveness.  Many  of  the 
triptychs  or  winged  pictures  are  amusing  be- 
cause they  frequently  include  the  patron  among 
those  present  in  the  Bethlehem  stable  or  at  the 
cross,  while  they  did  not  hesitate  to  add  to 
those  watching  at  the  tomb  his  whole  family, 
if  he  so  desired  it. 

Please  notice  No.  243.  It  represents  a  group 
of  burgomasters  kneeling  to  the  Virgin,  but 
with  faces  turned  squarely  to  the  artist. 

This  is  a  grand  collection  and  is  second  in 
Belgium  to  only  one,  the  Antwerp  gallery.  It 
has  much  of  beauty  that  will  be  pointed  out 
to  you  by  better  judges  than  I,  and  many 
paintings  which  you  will  be  expected  to  rave 
over  and  which  you  can  worship  safely  without 


178  Three  Weeks  /;/  Holland 

violating'  the  second  commandment,  for  they 
do  not  resemble  anything  that  is  in  heaven 
above  or  in  the  earth  beneath  or  in  the  water 
under  the  earth. 

The  big  picture  galleries  should  be  broken 
up  into  smaller  ones.  Their  highest  purpose 
is  to  instil  a  love  of  the  beautiful  in  the  minds 
of  the  people,  but  unless  that  love  is  already 
there  the  size  of  some  collections  wearies  one 
and  the  impression  made  by  the  really  beautiful 
paintings  is  completely  lost  in  the  succeeding 
maze.  One  or  two  small  galleries,  like  the 
insignificant  one  at  Mons,  have  given  us  more 
pleasure  than  the  acres  of  canvases  by  Dutch 
and  Belgian  masters  exhibited  in  the  larger 
cities.  The  eight  or  ten  really  fine  painters  of 
the  seventeenth  century  must  have  been  ambi- 
dexterous. Single  handed  they  could  never 
have  ground  out  the  large  number  of  pictures 
that  they  are  accused  of  painting. 

The  Palais  de  Justice  crowns  the  slope  at 
the  end  of  the  street.  It  is  a  very  large  and 
impressive  structure.  It  cost  nine  million  dol- 
lars. Its  area  is  larger  than  that  of  St.  Peter's 
in  Rome. 

We  took  a  street  car  back  to  the  Park.    The 


Brussels  179 

band  was  playing  and  the  benches  were  filled 
by  people  of  the  poorer  classes.  The  Park  is 
very  dusty  and  its  narrow  strips  of  grass  are 
carefully  defended  against  invasion. 

The  palace  is  being  enlarged  and  is  inacces- 
sible. Some  buildings  are  being  torn  down  to 
make  room  for  additions.  One  building  is 
completely  encased  in  scaffolding  to  the  roof, 
with  floors  at  every  story,  so  that  not  a  speck 
of  debris  falls  outside  of  the  structure. 

We  then  shopped  along  the  Montagne  de  la 
Cour,  where  the  nic-nacs  are  a  joy  and  the 
gloves  a  disappointment  in  form,  quality  and 
price. 

We  are  assured  that  Leopold  walks  the 
streets  like  any  other  citizen  of  Brussels,  but 
so  far  we  have  not  seen  him.  Once  a  trumpet 
blast  caused  us  to  rush  to  the  window,  but  it 
heralded  the  return  of  a  Waterloo  coaching 
party. 

The  hotel  room  numbers  are  painted  on 
frosted  glass  and  set  in  spaces  cut  out  of  the 
door  panel,  so  that  they  are  readily  distinguish- 
able. Notwithstanding  this  precaution  it  is 
quite  easy  to  lose  yourself  if  your  room  is  on 
the  entresol.  There  is  a  wide  stairway  leading 


I  So  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

up  from  the  office.  At  the  landing  it  divides. 
If  you  turn  to  the  right  your  stairs  stop  at  the 
entresol.  If  you  turn  to  the  left  that  floor  is 
omitted  altogether  and  you  land  in  the  one 
above.  It  is  quite  bewildering  to  know  that 
your  room  is  immediately  above  the  office  and 
not  to  be  conscious  of  having  passed  a  floor, 
and  yet  to  find  yourself  amid  totally  unfamiliar 
surroundings. 

There  are  barracks  in  the  court  back  of  the 
hotel,  and  a  sentry  paces  the  sidewalk  under 
our  window  night  and  day,  so  we  feel  perfectly 
secure  in  sleeping  with  wide  open  windows. 

We  are  both  barbered  in  the  same  shop,  con- 
ducted by  the  barber  to  the  king.  If  he  should 
let  as  much  hair  go  down  Leopold's  back  as 
he  did  mine  there  would  be  a  new  court  barber 
appointed.  My  predecessor  in  the  chair  was 
a  man  past  sixty  years  of  age,  who  was  being 
elaborately  marcelled.  It  must  have  required 
an  hour  to  fix  him  up,  for  the  barber  had  first 
to  find  the  hair  and  then  curl  it. 

The  price  of  a  table  d'hote  dinner  at  this 
hotel  is  five  francs.  If  you  are  half  an  hour 
late  it  is  six  francs.  If  you  do  not  order  wine 


Brussels  181 

it  is  seven  francs.  Wouldn't  that  drive  you  to 
drink  ? 

At  seven  in  the  morning  it  is  interesting  to 
watch  the  town  wake  up.  A  dog  peddler  is 
out  early,  with  a  fluffy  white  poodle,  looking 
for  a  patron. among  the  nobility  or  the  tourists. 
The  mere  looks  of  this  perfumed  pet  excites 
the  ire  of  a  big  working  dog  hitched  to  an 
adjacent  milk  cart,  and  he  nearly  upsets  his 
cart  in  his  efforts  to  get  at  the  offender.  The 
girl  in  charge  returns  in  time  to  prevent  an 
accident,  but  by  this  time  all  of  the  dogs  in  the 
square  are  barking  madly. 

Half  of  the  shops  display  signs  announcing 
that  they  cater  to  the  King  or  the  Court  of 
Flanders,  but  they  get  most  of  their  real  money 
from  the  visitors. 

The  buses  are  trackless  street  cars.  The 
one  that  goes  down  the  Montagne  de  la  Cour 
on  the  right  of  our  hotel  has  two  horses  and 
the  fare  is  two  cents.  Coming  up  the  hill  they 
hitch  on  two  more  horses  and  charge  four 
cents  a  ride. 

The  Gare  Midi  or  Central  Station,  from 
which  the  train  for  Waterloo  departs,  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  persistent  and  offensive  set  of 


1 82  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

guides,  men  and  women,  from  whom  it  is  very 
difficult  to  escape.  They  follow  you  about  and 
volunteer  information  at  every  turn  and  want 
to  be  paid  for  it.  They  tell  you  which  is  the 
entrance  to  the  station  and  what  time  the 
Waterloo  train  goes,  and  a  lot  of  other  facts 
which  are  plainly  indicated  on  the  signs  all 
about. 


Waterloo  183 


XXIII 

Waterloo 

T  is  half  an  hour's  ride  to  Waterloo,  or 
to  Braine-l'Alleud,  for  the  battle 
ground  is  several  miles  from  the  vil- 
lage of  Waterloo.  The  village  has  been  coupled 
with  the  most  famous  battle  of  modern  history 
because  Wellington  sent  the  dispatches  an- 
nouncing his  victory  therefrom.  It  is  rather 
a  curious  fact  that  earlier  in  the  day  couriers 
had  been  sent  from  the  French  lines  to  Paris, 
announcing  a  French  victory. 

After  leaving  the  train  we  took  a  small  car- 
riage and  had  for  companions  two  American 
young  men  and  an  Englishman  with  two  ladies. 
Our  first  stop  was  at  the  foot  of  a  mound  on 
top  of  which  stands  the  Belgian  Lion.  On 
this  spot — not  on  top  of  the  mound,  but  on  the 
spot  covered  by  it — the  Prince  of  Orange  was 
wounded.  The  lion  was  cast  at  Seraing  by 
Cockerill  from  the  metal  of  captured  French 


184  Three  Weeks  in  Holland ' 

cannon  and  weighs  twenty-eight  tons.  In 
building  the  mound  the  unpardonable  mistake 
was  made  of  destroying  the  "sunken  road,"  so 
graphically  described  in  Les  Miserables,  and 
leveling  all  of  the  field  of  battle  thereby  com- 
pletely obliterating  the  story  which  it  might 
have  told  to  the  student  of  strategy.  Women 
working  for  eight  cents  a  day  carried  the  dirt 
in  baskets  to  the  mound. 

It  was  charged  against  the  French  that  their 
soldiers,  returning  from  the  Belgian  revolution 
in  i §32,  cut  off  the  tail  which  they  had  failed 
to  twist  in  1815.  But  our  guide  denies  the 
story,  and  substantiates  his  denial  by  quoting 
his  grandfather  who  lived  here  from  1807  until 
his  death  a  few  years  ago  and  who  never  heard 
of  the  transaction. 

It  is  a  weary  climb  up  the  two  hundred  and 
twenty-six  steps  to  the  top.  Looking  at  the 
monotonous  plain  of  Waterloo  from  that  ele- 
vation suggests  no  more  to  the  unimaginative 
mind  than  would  the  glassy  surface  of  the  Sea 
of  Japan  dissassociated  from  the  fact  of  Togo's 
victory. 

The  first  thing  that  impresses  one  is  the  small 
size  of  the  field.  Only  seven  hundred  yards 


THE    MOUND    AT    WATERLOO 


Waterloo  185 

separated  the  flanks  of  the  French  and  the 
allies.  Wellington's  center  was  but  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  from  Napoleon's  head- 
quarters. The  line  of  battle  was  less  than  three 
miles  long.  In  this  little  spot  of  ground,  hardly 
large  enough  for  a  dress  parade,  over  three 
hundred  thousand  men  tore  at  each  others' 
throats  for  five  or  six  hours,  and  when  it  was 
over  counted  a  loss  of  fifty  thousand  dead  or 
disabled.  Men  did  not  sight  their  cannon 
with  telescopes  and  learn  the  results  of  each 
shot  by  wireless  telegraphy  in  those  days.  The 
smooth  bore  flintlock  of  our  fathers  had  an 
effective  range  of  less  than  a  hundred  yards 
and  could  be  fired  about  once  a  minute,  while 
the  muzzle  loading  field  gun  sent  grape  or 
canister  about  six  hundred  yards.  A  modern 
magazine  rifle  can  deliver  twenty-five  shots  a 
minute  and  can  kill  at  forty-two  hundred  yards, 
while  within  two  thousand  yards  it  is  accurate 
and  deadly.  An  automatic  machine  will  send 
a  hail  of  bullets  at  the  rate  of  one  thousand  a 
minute.  Today  Wellington  would  not  need  to 
leave  the  Brussels  ball  room  to  direct  a  battle 
on  this  spot. 

We  drove  over  the  road  built  by  Napoleon 


1 86  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

in  1800,  fifteen  years  before  the  battle.  It  is 
probably  a  good  cavalry  road,,  but  is  very  rough 
for  buggy  riding.  We  passed  La  Haie  Sainte, 
a  farm  house  which  the  French  succeeded  in 
taking.  A  little  farther  down  the  road  is  the 
cabaret,  La  Belle  Alliance,  which  was  Na- 
poleon's headquarters.  Then  we  left  the  main 
road  and  went  across  country  to  the  farm 
house  of  Hougomont,  which  was  the  white  hot 
point  of  the  battle  all  day.  This  little  brick 
enclosed  farm  yard  was  a  natural  fortress,  and 
it  was  like  a  pit  of  the  Inferno  during  the  entire 
battle.  But  it  was  never  taken  by  the  French. 
It  was  literally  shot  to  pieces.  Every  foot  of 
wall  and  buildings  is  pitted  with  the  scars  of 
bullet,  grape  and  canister.  Fifteen  hundred 
were  killed  there  in  one  hour.  Three  hundred 
bodies  were  thrown  into  the  old  well  after  the 
battle.  Part  of  the  family  chapel  was  not  de- 
stroyed and  still  stands.  Within  is  a  life-size 
crucifix.  Fire  broke  out  in  the  farm  house  and 
no  one  had  time  to  put  it  out.  It  burned  to  the 
wall  holding  the  crucifix  and  went  out  of  its 
own  accord. 

The  family  who  own  this  farm  make  a  large 
income  from  sight-seers.    They  plant  little  bul- 


Waterloo  187 

lets  and  souvenirs.  These  are  sown  in  the  fall 
and  the  winter's  snows  and  spring  rains  bring 
them  to  perfection.  Early  in  the  summer  they 
are  ploughed  up  and  sold  to  the  credulous.  We 
have  a  grape  shot  and  an  insignia  from  an 
artilleryman's  cap  which  came  from  the  field 
of  Waterloo.  But  when  they  went  to  the  field 
of  Waterloo,  deponent  saith  not. 

The  shin  bone  of  some  unidentified  hero  was 
offered  at  three  francs  over  the  same  counter 
where  we  purchased  our  relics. 

The  French  have  erected  a  monument  near 
La  Belle  Alliance  on  the  spot  where  the  Im- 
perial Guard  covered  the  personal  retreat  of 
Napoleon.  It  is  in  the  form  of  an  eagle  with 
its  wings  shot  full  of  holes,  but  clutching  the 
banner  of  France  in  one  talon  and  defying  its 
enemies  with  beak  and  claw.  It  is  the  most 
impressive  memorial  on  the  field  and  in  telling 
its  story  ranks  with  the  Lion  of  Lucerne. 

Our  visit  to  Waterloo  is  made  more  realistic 
by  a  light  rain,  similar  to  the  one  which 
softened  the  ground  June  18,  1815,  and  made 
rapid  artillery  maneuvers  impossible.  The  battle 
ground  is  all  either  in  pasture  or  under  culti- 


1 88  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

vation,  and  between  the  rows  of  grain,  poppies 
flare  out  like  drops  of  blood. 

We  return  to  the  station  by  the  Paris  road, 
built  by  ancient  Rome  and  extending  to  the 
capital  of  France,  one  hundred  and  sixty-two 
miles  away.  Napoleon  brought  his  army  over 
that  road  to  Waterloo.  It  seems  a  long  way 
to  come  for  a  thrashing. 

Of  course  an  Englishman  may  be  pardoned 
for  being  a  trifle  self-assertive  on  this  battle 
field,  so  it  was  not  surprising  to  have  our 
British  traveler  say,  rather  pompously:  'The 
victory  was  the  more  creditable  for  Wellington 
because  he  had  to  fight  with  raw  recruits. 
Most  of  our  veterans  were  in  your  country  at 
that  time."  I  could  not  help  suggesting  that 
most  of  them  are  there  yet.  He  took  my  re- 
mark in  good  part,  and  we  were  getting  on 
famously  when  some  one  spoke  of  the  quaint 
costume  of  the  Dutch.  One  of  the  young  men 
from  New  Jersey  blurted  out  that  he  did  not 
think  the  Hollanders  dressed  any  funnier  than 
the  English.  That  made  an  Anglo-American 
alliance  impossible  for  the  time  being,  and  we 
finished  our  ride  in  silence. 

Without  wishing  to  precipitate  an  argument 


THE   CHAPEL  OP   HOUGOMONT 


Waterloo  189 

with  the  regular  army  man,  one  is  reminded 
that  many  battles  have  been  won  by  raw  re- 
cruits. However  seasoned  were  Holland's 
sailors  in  her  war  with  Spain,  her  army  was 
made  up  of  peasants  and  burghers  whose  trade 
was  peace,  and  yet  the  Spanish  veterans  were 
unable  to  conquer  them.  Great  Britain's 
trained  soldiers  laid  down  their  arms  before 
the  farmer  boys  of  the  American  colonies. 
Wellington's  best  fighting  at  Waterloo  was 
done  by  men  with  the  first  smell  of  powder  in 
their  nostrils.  In  South  Africa  the  untrained 
Boer  collected  heavy  tribute  from  the  flower 
of  England's  army  before  he  was  overwhelmed 
by  numbers.  The  Russian  army,  the  perfected 
tool  of  several  centuries  of  autocracy,  was 
swept  away  like  chaff  before  the  little  men  of 
Japan,  who  have  only  recently  turned  their 
attention  to  fighting.  It  takes  more  than 
money  and  time  and  discipline  to  make  a  vic- 
torious army.  It  requires  faith  in  the  cause 
and  in  the  leader,  and  when  this  abounds  it 
will  carry  the  day  against  scarred  and  powder- 
burned  legions. 

One  of  the  odd  things  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Waterloo  is  a  monument  to  the  Marquis 


190  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

of  Anglesea's  leg,  which  was  amputated  after 
the  battle  and  buried  in  the  garden  of  a  peasant. 
We  ate  lunch  at  a  restaurant  near  the  station 
where  there  was  a  notice  to  the  effect  that  if 
the  music  played  while  you  were  eating,  the 
regular  price  would  be  "augmented"  a  few 
centimes.  The  only  war-like  trait  that  seems 
to  have  been  transmitted  to  the  present  genera- 
tion of  Belgians  is  the  ability  to  charge. 


Brussels  Again  191 


XXIV 

Brussels  Again 

ETURNING  to  Brussels,  we  loaf 
around  the  Grand  Place,  the  most  per- 
fectly preserved  mediaeval  square  in 
Europe.  This  was  the  scene  of  some  of  Alva's 
murderous  executions.  Twenty-five  nobles 
were  beheaded  here  in  1568  for  loyalty  to  the 
Dutch  cause,  and  the  next  year  Egmont  and 
Horn  met  their  fate  in  the  same  spot. 

The  Hotel  de  Ville  occupies  one  side  of  the 
Place.  It  is  a  gothic  structure  with  a  delicate, 
needle-like  tower.  The  Maison  du  Roi  is  on 
the  north  east  side.  Egmont  and  Horn  passed 
their  last  night  alive  therein,  and  from  its  win- 
dows Alva  witnessed  their  execution.  Quaint 
guild  houses  surround  the  rest  of  the  square. 
The  drapers,  the  skippers,  the  archers,  carpen- 
ters, printers,  bakers,  brewers,  tailors  and 
painters,  each  have  their  building  and  each  one 
is  distinct  and  characteristic.  All  have  been  well 
taken  care  of  and  are  in  excellent  condition. 


192  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

We  wish  to  go  to  the  Botanic  Gardens.  The 
legal  cab  fare  is  twenty  cents  for  the  trip.  We 
approach  a  group  of  cabmen  in  the  center  of 
the  square  and  ask  the  fare  to  our  destination. 
As  a  unit  they  declare  it  to  be  thirty  cents. 
Some  demon  of  obstinacy  makes  me  resolve  to 
spend  a  lot  of  valuable  time  in  teaching  these 
cabbies  a  lesson,  so  we  start  to  walk.  By  good 
luck  we  choose  the  right  direction,  and  before 
we  have  gone  half  a  block  we  are  overtaken 
by  one  of  the  men,  who  gladly  lets  us  ride  at 
the  legal  rate  plus  the  ever  present  pourboirc 
of  a  few  cents. 

The  Botanic  Gardens  are  not  large  but 
abound  in  beautiful  specimens  of  flowers  and 
trees  from  all  over  the  world.  Scattered 
through  this  splendid  display  of  nature's  handi- 
work are  magnificent  bronzes.  Seven  statues 
represent  young  girls  in  various  graceful  atti- 
tudes, the  most  beautiful  of  them  to  our  eyes 
being  the  Goose  Girl. 

We  drive  back  to  the  Church  of  St.  Gudule, 
an  old  Gothic  structure  begun  in  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  well  situated  at  the  top  of  a  hill. 
The  stained  glass  windows  are  beautiful.  It 
is  a  very  large  and  very  busy  church.  There 


Brussels  Again  193 

are  a  great  many  people  at  prayer.  One  altar 
is  devoted  to  those  who  seek  for  healing,  and 
numberless  images  of  arms  and  legs  are  sus- 
pended therefrom  as  a  reminder  to  the  saint 
of  the  portion  of  the  body  which  needs  help. 

The  carved  pulpit  is  supported  by  figures  of 
Adam  and  Eve,  and  the  Tree  of  the  Knowl- 
edge of  Good  and  Evil  overshadows  it,  just 
as  it  does  so  many  other  pulpits.  On  the  side 
of  Adam  are  gathered  animals  of  the  strong, 
devouring  type,  while  the  sculptor  has  grouped 
about  Eve  peacocks,  parrots  and  monkeys — 
the  mean  thing ! 

The  street  names  are  printed  at  all  intersec- 
tions in  French  and  Dutch.  All  public  procla- 
mations receive  the  same  treatment. 

As  Leopold  wears  a  full  beard,  many  Bel- 
gians show  their  patriotism  by  growing  all  the 
whiskers  that  their  chins  will  carry,  just  as 
loyal  Germans  turn  up  the  ends  of  their  mus- 
taches in  emulation  of  Emperor  William.  One 
wonders  what  would  happen  should  a  one-eyed 
monarch  ascend  the  throne. 

Since  writing  the  above  in  jest,  my  eye  fell 
on  some  reminiscences  of  the  singer,  Emma 
Nevada,  in  which  she  states  that  at  a  concert 


194  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

in  Copenhagen,  attended  by  the  royal  family, 
every  man  in  the  audience  had  his  hat  on. 
Later  she  learned  that  the  crown  prince  was 
obliged  to  wear  his  hat  in  order  to  protect  an 
inflamed  eye.  So  every  loyal  Dane  did  like- 
wise, and  even  pulled  his  headgear  forward  a 
trifle  over  one  eye. 

Outside  of  a  comic  opera  there  never  was 
such  a  variety  of  military  uniforms  as  you  see 
in  Belgium.  A  company  of  infantry  just 
passed  our  hotel  window  with  a  bugler  and 
natty  captain  in  the  lead.  Their  uniform  is  a 
dark  green,  with  stiff  black  hats  and  pompons 
of  feathers. 

We  dine  at  a  sidewalk  cafe — the  Joseph — on 
the  Boulevard  Anspach.  It  is  delightful  to  sit 
and  nibble  and  sip  while  the  life  and  gaiety  of 
the  city  are  all  about  you.  Our  waiter  has  two 
essentials  of  a  successful  caterer:  He  makes 
an  irreproachable  salad  and  he  remembers 
faces.  On  our  second  visit  to  the  Joseph  after 
an  absence  of  twenty-four  hours,  we  secured 
the  same  table  and  the  same  waiter,  for  we 
wanted  some  more  of  his  salad  dressing.  He 
came  up  smiling  and  bowing,  and,  as  a  sort  of 
experiment,  I  said,  "Bring  us  the  same  dinner 


Brussels  Again  195 

that  we  had  before."  He  looked  at  me  a  mo- 
ment, his  face  brightened  with  recollection  and 
he  named  over  each  course  interrogatively.  He 
did  not  omit  a  dish  and  served  it  in  perfect 
order. 

After  dinner  we  attend  the  kirmess.  As 
Brussels  is  a  large  city  and  always  filled  with 
strangers,  the  kirmess  continues  for  six  weeks 
each  summer.  One  long  street  is  devoted  to 
booths,  carrousels  and  side  shows,  and  it  seems 
two  miles  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the 
brilliantly  colored  incandescent  lights.  We 
enter  a  booth  which  looks  attractive.  The 
tickets  are  four,  six  and  ten  cents.  The  seats 
nearest  the  stage  are  the  cheapest.  The  band 
in  front  is  playing  "The  Honeysuckle  and  the 
Bee."  The  performance  is  entirely  cinemato- 
graph. In  fact  this  form  of  entertainment  is 
popular  all  over  Holland  and  Belgium.  We 
go  in  and  out  of  several  booths  and  see  frag- 
ments of  programs  or  catch  glimpses  of  fat 
ladies  and  snake  charmers.  There  are  a  few 
trained  animal  shows.  Some  of  the  booths 
are  highly  ornate,  with  papier  mache  statuary 
outside  and  velvet  draperies  within.  The  most 
characteristic  stalls  are  those  in  which  are  sold 


196  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

a  sort  of  Dutch  fried  cakes,  "poppertjes,"  made 
while  you  wait,  and  served  hot.  The  girls  and 
women  who  preside  over  these  places  wear  the 
national  head-dress  and  costume. 

We  arise  early  on  Sunday  morning  and  go 
to  the  Grand  Place.  The  scene  is  changed 
since  our  last  visit.  It  is  bird  and  flower 
market  day,  and  we  are  greeted  by  a  bedlam 
of  screeches  from  birds  and  cries  from  their 
owners.  One  side  is  banked  with  flowers  for 
sale.  An  enterprising  proprietor  of  a  cafe 
which  occupies  the  old  Weigh  House  has  a 
card  in  his  window  stating  that  his  second  floor 
balcony  is  for  rent  to  kodakers  for  a  franc. 
It  commands  a  good  view  of  the  square,  and 
soon  we  are  spreading  our  tripod  in  it  and 
getting  ready  for  business.  It  is  a  fitful  day 
and  the  sun  seems  to  want  to  tantalize  us  by 
emerging  for  just  a  few  seconds  and  then  re- 
treating again.  In  spite  of  his  playfulness  we 
get  a  few  pictures. 

A  peddler  of  drinks  circulates  among  the 
people.  He  carries  a  double  metal  tank  on  his 
back  and  faucets  project  from  each  side  on  a 
level  with  his  waist.  One  cup  is  used  for  both 
sides  and  for  an  unlimited  number  of  patrons. 


Brussels  Again      •  197 

En  route  to  our  car  line  we  make  some  pur- 
chases in  a  dainty  little  copper  shop  where  the 
proprietress,  her  little  six-year-old  and  the  kit- 
ten are  all  clad  in  the  same  soft  shade  of  gray. 
Then  we  drop  in  on  Leopold's  haberdasher  and 
purchase  a  white  vest.  Either  my  body  or  the 
King's  is  upside  down,  for  the  garment  has  to 
be  altered  in  a  manner  that  amounts  to  a  com- 
plete reversal.  It  is  done,  however,  without 
charge  and  delivered  to  the  hotel  room  in  half 
an  hour.  Judging  from  the  very  low  price 
charged  today  by  his  furnisher  and  yesterday 
by  his  barber,  I  cannot  help  wondering  what 
Leopold  does  with  his  salary. 

The  closing  of  my  vest  deal  involved  more 
red  tape  than  it  would  take  to  convey  a  corner 
lot  in  Cook  County.  The  salesman  took  me 
to  the  cashier  and  commenced  to  tell  him  facts 
and  figures  which  were  repeated  by  the  cashier 
in  a  monotonous  drone.  They  could  not  have 
been  more  solemn  and  sepulchral  if  I  had  been 
taking  orders  instead  of  giving  one. 

In  the  afternoon  we  visited  the  Wiertz  Mu- 
seum. Anton  Joseph  Wiertz  was  a  crank.  A 
crank  has  been  defined  as  something  that  you 
cannot  turn.  At  any  rate  he  had  ideas  at  vari- 


198  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

ance  with  those  held  by  other  men  and  he  put 
those  ideas  on  canvas.  He  did  not  believe  in 
capital  punishment  and  he  made  a  nightmare 
which  he  called  "A  Vision  of  a  Beheaded 
Man."  He  loved  peace  and  he  painted  "Na- 
poleon in  Hell,"  with  soldiers  and  their  widows 
taunting  him.  He  preached  a  sermon  against 
vanity  in  two  pictures,  one  a  study  of  a  female 
figure  before  a  mirror  and  the  other  the  same 
pose  and  mirror,  but  the  figure  a  skeleton. 
There  are  four  small  pictures  at  which  you 
look  through  peep  holes,  and  the  illusion  cre- 
ated makes  them  seem  like  flesh  and  blood. 
You  step  around  a  corner  and  a  smiling  maid 
holds  a  door  ajar  for  you  to  enter,  but  door 
and  maid  are  painted  on  the  wall.  In  another 
corner  a  painted  dog  lies  in  a  painted  kennel 
with  a  painted  bone  between  his  paws,  while 
one  floor  above  him  sits  an  old  concierge 
smoking  at  a  window,  the  shutter  of  which  is 
not  painted,  but  swings  back  and  forth.  Ec- 
centric, bizarre,  not  "art,"  I  grant  you,  but 
effective  just  the  same. 

After  the  death  of  Wiertz  the  state  bought 
his  residence  and  made  it  into  this  museum 
where  all  are  admitted  free. 


Brussels  Again  199 

While  at  dinner  with  table  on  the  sidewalk, 
a  new  variety  of  soldier  marches  by.  He  wears 
cerise  trousers  with  shiny  boots  half  way  to  his 
knees,  yellow  stripes,  a  dark  green  coat  and  a 
visorless  cap. 

On  the  Rue  de  la  Regence,  not  far  from 
our  hotel,  is  the  monument  to  Egmont  and 
Horn  in  a  small  park.  Back  of  this  park  is 
Egmont's  former  residence,  now  the  palace  of 
the  Due  d'Arenberg.  The  palace  is  open  to 
the  public  on  week  days. 

The  bronze  statue  is  surrounded  by  marble 
figures  of  William  the  Silent  and  his  friends 
and  lieutenants,  who  made  the  history  of  the 
Netherlands  glorious  in  the  sixteenth  century. 
Egmont  fell  a  victim  to  his  own  vacillating 
disposition  and  dragged  sturdy,  straight-for- 
ward Horn  down  with  him.  He  was  trying 
to  get  into  the  Spanish  band  wagon  when  he 
fell  under  the  wheels,  and  he  was  always  an 
uncertain  quantity  in  William's  calculations.  It 
is  exasperating  to  see  him  in  bronze  towering 
above  William  the  Silent,  who  is  simply  one 
of  the  chorus  in  marble  surrounding  him. 

We  have  had  to  put  lemon  squash  on  our 
Index  Expurgatoris.  In  Belgium  they  put 


2OO  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

some  sort  of  aniline  dye  into  it  that  spoils  it 
for  us.  To  get  straight  lemonade  you  must 
ask  for  "Citroen  naturelle,"  and  they  bring  you 
two  glasses  with  the  juice  of  half  a  lemon  in 
each,  some  loaf  sugar  and  a  bottle  of  water. 
If  you  have  time,  you  dissolve  the  sugar,  pour 
in  the  water  and  serve. 

Some  of  the  streets  in  Brussels  must  have 
been  guilty  of  dark  crimes  in  their  youth.  They 
turn  and  twist  as  if  to  elude  pursuit,  and 
further  add  to  their  suspicious  behavior  by 
assuming  a  new  alias  every  few  blocks.  For 
example  the  Rue  Montagne  de  la  Cour  leaves 
the  Place  Royale  with  its  kingly  surroundings 
and  drops  a  little  lower,  becoming  the  Rue  de 
la  Madeleine,  then  changing  to  the  humble  Rue 
de  Marche  aux  Herbes.  It  crosses  the  Boule- 
vard Anspach  and  emerges  as  the  Rue  de 
Marche  aux  Poulets.  Farther  on  it  becomes 
the  Rue  St.  Catharine,  straightens  up  a  bit  as 
the  Rue  de  Flandre,  and  finally  loses  itself  in 
the  street  of  the  Field  of  the  Four  Winds.  A 
map  of  Boston  looks  like  a  checker  board  when 
placed  beside  a  plan  of  Brussels. 

They  use  the  croupiest  little  tin  horns  here 
with  which  to  start  street  cars.  They  might 


5TATUE    OF    EG  MONT   AND   HORN— BRUSSELS 


Brussels  Again  201 

start  a  riot  in  America  or  a  runaway,  but  never 
a  street  car.  They  are  used  as  a  sort  of  con- 
cession to  Brussels'  patron  saint,  Gabriel. 

Here  come  some  more  of  Leopold's  soldiers. 
This  mannerchor  has  on  white  duck  trousers, 
green,  long-tailed  coats  and  shiny  black  hats. 

The  women  of  Brussels  have  beautiful  forms 
and  walk  like  queens.  In  fact,  they  are  much 
better  made  than  their  apparel.  The  material 
is  costly,  but  as  a  rule  ill-fitting  and  unbecom- 
ing. White  is  naturally  prevalent  in  such  a 
clean  city,  and  the  majority  wear  cream-colored 
leather  shoes  with  black  hose.  All  of  the  above 
observations  are  made  from  our  sidewalk  table 
in  a  speckless  atmosphere.  Barring  the  ped- 
dlers of  post  cards  and  the  inharmonious 
hosiery,  there  is  nothing  in  the  scene  that  you 
would  wish  to  have  different. 

Think  of  buying  a  bouquet  of  three  roses, 
red,  white  and  pink,  for  two  cents,  and  then 
taking  your  sweetheart  two  blocks  to  the  Palais 
d'Ete,  where  for  eighty  cents  each  you  may 
occupy  a  box  and  study  both  the  audience  and 
the  actors  in  a  fashionable  vaudeville  theater. 
The  hall  is  very  long  and  the  parquet  almost 
level,  and  you  wonder  how  the  people  in  the 


2O2  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

rear  see  anything.  The  seats  are  marked 
Loue  as  fast  as  they  are  sold.  A  gallery  runs 
around  three  sides  of  the  building,  and  the 
whole  scene  is  brilliant  with  red,  white  and 
blue  electric  lights.  Each  seat  has  a  shelf  in 
front  of  it  for  opera  or  wine  glasses.  The 
ushers  are  girls  and  the  programs  cost  five 
cents  each.  There  are  twenty-four  pieces  in 
the  orchestra.  There  are  American,  French, 
German  and  Chinese  specialties  on  the  stage, 
the  last  named  terminating  in  a  "slide  for  life" 
from  the  roof,  which  ended  comically  when  the 
actor  nearly  lost  his  cue.  It  became  entangled 
in  the  little  wheel  and  halted  it  half  way,  and 
left  him  kicking  and  spluttering  Chinese  in  mid 
air.  The  whole  apparatus  had  to  be  lowered 
to  the  floor  in  order  to  liberate  him. 

After  the  performance  we  caught  a  late  bus 
up  our  mountain  and  occupied  the  only  two 
standing  places  vacant  on  the  front  platform. 


Tournai  and  Lille  203 


XXV 

Tournai  and  Lille 

HE  next  day  we  shopped  among  the 
lace  makers  and  jewelers  until  time  to 
take  the  train  for  Tournai. 
As  the  battle  of  Waterloo  was  not  fought 
at  Waterloo,  we  are  not  disturbed  to  learn 
that  the  principal  industry  of  Tournai  is  the 
manufacture  of  "Brussels"  carpets.  Our  train 
takes  us  through  more  of  the  Borinage  and  we 
murmur  "Back  to  the  mines"  as  we  survey  the 
uninviting  towns  and  villages  through  which 
we  pass.  We  notice  one  curious  piece  of  vege- 
tation. It  is  a  pear  tree  which  spreads  over  a 
space  eight  or  ten  feet  square,  but  is  not  over 
six  inches  in  thickness.  It  is  trained  against 
the  walls  of  houses  and  at  first  glance  resembles 
a  vine. 

At  Tournai  we  find  an  intelligent  driver  and 
our  first  visit  is  to  the  Cathedral.  It  is  an 
eleventh  century  church,  but  Tournai  was  six 


2O4  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

hundred  years  old  when  its  corner  stone  was 
laid.  Its  stained  glass  windows  are  beautiful 
and  seem  to  have  taken  something  from  the 
centuries  of  sunlight  sifted  through  them  and 
to  have  blended  it  with  the  artists'  colors,  soft- 
ening and  harmonizing  them.  The  exterior  is 
rich  with  sculptures.  The  choir  screen  within 
is  magnificent. 

In  the  Grand  Place  stands  a  statue  of  the 
Princess  d'Epinoy,  Tournai's  Joan  of  Arc.  She 
led  the  defenders  when  the  city  was  attacked 
by  Alexander  of  Parma  in  1581. 

The  Church  of  St.  Quentin  is  a  small  struc- 
ture but  beautiful.  It  contains  a  most  effective 
statue  of  the  Virgin,  which  is  so  placed  and 
lighted  as  to  seem  very  life-like. 

At  the  Cloth  Hall  they  were  having  the 
graduating  exercises  of  a  boys'  school.  The 
little  fellows  went  through  a  number  of  calis- 
thenic  evolutions  in  perfect  unison  to  the  ac- 
companiment of  piano  music.  We  listened  to 
two  embryo  Belgian  statesmen  recite,  and  their 
gestures  and  intonations  denoted  a  natural  gift 
of  oratory  unusual  in  ten-year-olds. 

The  museum  is  in  the  gallery  of  the  same 
building.  It  contains  a  great  many  Roman 


Tournai  and  Lille  205 

antiquities  unearthed  near  Tournai,  and  a  very 
death-like  picture  of  Egmont  and  Horn  re- 
ceiving the  homage  of  the  guilds  after  their 
execution. 

The  belfry  affords  a  magnificent  view  of  the 
cathedral,  the  city  and  its  surroundings. 

The  drive  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  takes  you 
past  several  interesting  Gothic  houses  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  Hotel  de  Ville  is  a 
suppressed  monastery.  It  was  in  the  hands  of 
the  house-cleaners,  hence  the  salon  of  the  queen 
was  no  more  impressive  than  any  other  room 
would  be  if  viewed  beneath  step  ladders  and 
filled  with  soap  suds  and  dust  rags. 

You  next  go  past  a  number  of  old  churches, 
gray  with  the  grist  of  ages,  to  the  Pont  des 
Trous,  a  bridge  built  in  1290  across  the 
Scheldt,  and  recently  closed  by  the  building 
commissioner.  It  has  two  massive  towers  at 
each  end.  Between  the  bridge  and  the  station 
stands  the  old  tower  of  Henry  VIII. ,  built  in 
1513,  and  resembling  a  tomb  on  the  Appian 
Way. 

We  had  time  for  luncheon  at  the  depot  be- 
fore departing  for  Lille.  After  we  were  safely 
installed  in  our  compartment  we  asked  a  pass- 


206  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

ing  guard  when  we  were  due  to  arrive  at  Lille. 
His  reply  developed  the  fact  that  he  had  a  hair 
lip.  We  can  understand  good  French  a  little 
and  Belgian  French  less,  but  when  confronted 
with  Belgian  hair-lip  French  we  threw  up  our 
four  hands  and  told  him  we  would  wait  until 
we  reached  Lille  and  look  at  our  watches. 

Lille  is  in  France,  and  we  were  hardly  seated 
comfortably  when  the  train  stopped  and  a  uni- 
formed official  ordered  us  to  take  our  baggage 
into  the  depot  for  examination.  This  adds 
Eaiseau  to  our  list  of  frontier  towns.  It  was 
awarded  to  France  by  the  Peace  of  Utrecht. 

At  Lille  our  hotel  is  built  around  a  big  court 
into  which  the  bus  drives.  We  have  a  good 
night's  rest  and  ride  around  the  city  in  the 
morning.  Lille  is  the  birth-place  of  lisle  thread. 

The  Bourse  is  an  attractive  old  shell  within 
whose  walls  is  played  the  same  attractive  old 
shell  game  as  in  other  Bourses. 

The  Hotel  de  Ville  was  built  during  the 
nineteenth  century  and  we  pass  it  by  in  scorn. 

In  the  Church  of  St.  Catharine  is  an  altar 
piece  by  Rubens,  representing  Catherine's  mar- 
tyrdom. The  name  of  P.  P.  Rubens  is  given 
great  prominence  on  the  frame,  while  you  have 


Tournai  and  Lille  207 

to  refer  to  Baedeker  to  learn  who  is  the  lady 
that  is  being  martyred.  That  is  proper.  There 
is  only  one  Rubens  while  there  is  an  army  of 
martyrs. 

The  Jardin  Vauban  (named  after  the  great 
military  engineer)  is  a  pretty  park  within 
whose  shady  depths  a  cascade  ripples  and 
sparkles  as  it  emerges  from  a  natural  grotto. 
It  is  another  of  those  sights  which  are  endorsed 
by  the  cab  drivers'  union  because  you  have  to 
walk  quite  a  distance  to  it  from  the  roadway, 
while  horse  and  driver  rest  and  your  bill  keeps 
moving  on.  In  the  park  a  man  is  sprinkling 
grass  and  shrubbery  over  a  wide  area  by  dip- 
ping a  long  oar  with  a  spoon-shaped  end  into 
the  brook  and  throwing  the  water  from  it. 

Our  driver  takes  us  next  to  the  Porte  de 
Paris  and  grows  so  enthusiastic  over  it  as  he 
leans  back  to  tell  us  about  it  that  he  fairly 
foams  at  the  mouth  and  we  have  to  keep 
dodging.  Having  struck  his  gait,  he  persists 
in  driving  us  around  the  outskirts  of  the  city 
from  gate  to  gate. 

No  one  need  ever  suffer  from  thirst  in  Lille 
if  he  has  money.  There  are  saloons  every  few 


208  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

doors,  mostly  kept  by  women  and  largely  pat- 
ronized by  women. 

There  are  some  striking  pictures  in  the  gal- 
lery of  the  Palais  des  Beaux  Arts.  The  "Inun- 
dation of  the  Loire"  is  a  very  strong  portrayal 
of  the  rise  of  that  river  and  the  panic  of  the 
stricken  populace.  It  is  well  lighted  and  tells 
its  story  without  the  need  of  an  interpreter. 
The  sacred  pictures  are  numerous  and  interest- 
ing. 

Van  Dyck's  "Jesus  on  the  Cross"  is  a  mar- 
velous work,  while  there  are  several  by  Rubens, 
including  a  small  copy  of  his  "Descent  from 
the  Cross,"  the  original  of  which  is  in  Antwerp 
Cathedral.  His  "Death  of  Mary  Magdalen" 
is  a  sad  and  realistic  painting. 

Zustris,  a  sixteenth  century  artist,  has 
painted  a  picture  of  the  Savior  and  the  Magda- 
len in  which  Mary  wears  a  princess  dress  cut 
decollette. 

Americans  will  be  startled  at  seeing  a  picture 
by  George  Washington  in  this  gallery.  But  it 
is  by  another  George,  and  was  painted  in  1827. 

We  paused  longer  before  Muller's  "Give  Us 
Barabbas"  than  any  other  work  in  the  gallery. 
The  brutal  mob  and  the  more  brutal  Barabbas 


Tournai  and  Lille  209 

are  depicted  with  startling  accuracy  of  expres- 
sion. It  lightened  our  gloom  later  to  smile  at 
a  bronze  by  Idrac,  "Cupid  Stung,"  in  which 
the  playful  god  has  a  taste  of  his  own  medicine. 
We  pass  the  Church  of  St.  Maurice  on  our 
way  to  the.  station,  but  as  Lille  is  really  an 
"extra"  and  not  in  either  Holland  or  Belgium, 
we  do  not  linger,  but  catch  the  first  train  for 
Courtrai. 


2io  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


XXVI 

Courtrai  and  Ostend. 

E  had  quite  a  struggle  with  our  porter 
at  the  Lille  station.  Evidently  he  did 
not  believe  in  signs  and  insisted  on 
putting  us  into  the  wrong  train.  We  called  in 
the  gateman  as  referee  and  he  gave  us  the 
decision.  We  pass  the  Belgian  customs  with- 
out a  ripple.  They  ask  us  if  we  have  any 
"gros  bagage,"  and  when  we  point  to  our  suit 
cases  and  say  "Cest  tout,"  they  bow  politely 
and  withdraw.  Trunks  are  always  a  nuisance 
in  traveling  on  the  Continent,  but  at  custom 
houses  they  are  especially  troublesome.  As  a 
rule  they  are  objects  of  suspicion  and  must  be 
rummaged  thoroughly. 

Courtrai  is  famous  for  its  table  linen,  and 
Jan  Palfin,  the  inventor  of  the  forceps,  was 
born  here.  They  have  a  statue  in  his  honor 
in  the  Grand  Place.  See  what  a  pull  will  do 
for  a  man. 


Courtrai  and  Ostend  211 

The  Battle  of  the  Spurs  was  fought  beneath 
the  walls  of  this  city  in  1302.  The  weavers 
and  artisans  of  Bruges  and  Ypres  met  a  com- 
pany of  proud  knights  of  France  under  the 
Count  of  Artois.  Twelve  hundred  knights  fell, 
and  for  several  generations  there  was  scarcely 
a  family  that  did  not  have  at  least  one  gold 
spur  in  its  possession.  The  last  ones  disap- 
peared with  the  destruction  of  an  old  church  in 
which  many  were  hung  as  trophies. 

The  Market  Place  has  a  belfry  in  the  center, 
with  the  Hotel  de  Ville  on  one  side  and  the 
new  post  office  on  the  other.  In  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  are  two  handsome  fire  places  and  a  mag- 
nificent fresco  painting  representing  the  de- 
parture of  Baldwin  IX.  on  the  fourth  crusade. 
It  is  worthy  of  long  study.  Our  conductor 
is  as  lively  as  a  cricket  and  runs  up  and  down 
stairs  after  forgotten  keys,  and  is  cordially 
acquiescent  when  we  ask  permission  to  photo- 
graph the  fire  place  in  the  Council  Chamber. 

In  St.  Martin's  Church  there  are  the  usual 
beautiful  windows  and  carvings,  and  an  un- 
usual triptych  with  the  "Descent  of  the  Holy 
Ghost"  as  the  central  figure,  flanked  on  either 
side  by  "Creation"  and  "Baptism."  There  is 


212  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

a  startling  grotto  contrivance  representing 
"Jesus  in  the  Sepulchre,"  which  is  gruesome 
enough  for  a  Chamber  of  Horrors. 

In  the  Museum  is  a  large  picture  of  the 
"Battle  of  the  Spurs."  There  is  also  a  cattle 
piece  by  Robbe,  as  well  done  as  Paul  Potter's 
"Bull,"  and  with  much  better  looking  subjects. 
They  have  erected  a  monument  to  this  artist 
in  Courtrai. 

Today  is  a  national  fete  day.  Flags  are  fly- 
ing and  a  procession  is  forming.  Much  un- 
translated excitement  pervades  cabby  and  every 
one  else. 

In  the  Cathedral  we  looked  in  vain  for  a 
priest  to  roll  back  the  curtain  from  Van  Dyck's 
"Raising  the  Cross."  He  was  probably  out 
following  the  band.  So  your  sensibilities  will 
be  saved  any  of  our  crude  comments  thereon. 
It  is  about  eight  by  ten  and  undoubtedly  good, 
or  Van  Dyck  would  not  have  done  it. 

By  chance  we  drove  in  sight  of  two  massive 
bridge  towers,  and  we  both  exclaimed  in  uni- 
son, "There  they  are!"  For  years  we  have 
loved  them  as  they  stand  reflected  in  the  clear 
water.  We  saw  them  long  ago  in  an  unnamed 
picture  of  Belgian  life,  and  hoped  some  day  to 


Courtrai  and  Ostend  213 

see  the  originals,  and  there  they  stood  in  front 
of  us.  Their  outlines  were  quickly  transferred 
to  a  photographic  film. 

Does  any  one  know  why  a  continental  driver 
so  rarely  drives  you  to  the  curb  when  you  finish 
your  ride?  Invariably  he  stops  five  or  six  feet 
from  it,  even  if  yours  is  the  only  vehicle  in  the 
block. 

The  signs  in  this  station  are  in  French,  Flem- 
ish, English  and  German,  a  sure  sign  that 
Ostend  is  near  and  tourists  are  numerous.  It 
takes  about  an  hour  to  reach  that  famous 
bathing  resort,  and  from  the  first  we  dislike  it. 
It  is  not  a  place  in  which  to  do  anything  quickly 
or  inexpensively.  If  you  have  an  abundance 
of  money  and  plenty  of  time,  and  are  not  fin- 
icky on  moral  questions,  Ostend  will  suit  you. 

We  found  difficulty  in  getting  a  room.  Two 
hotels  were  full,  and  at  last  we  were  taken  in 
by  the  manager  of  a  villa.  From  that  on  dur- 
ing our  brief  stay  we  were  taken  in  with  great 
frequency. 

Having  obtained  shelter  for  the  night  we 
went  for  a  stroll  on  the  Digue  before  dinner. 
This  is  Ostend's  "Board  Walk."  It  is  a  hand- 
some promenade  with  grand  hotels,  residences 


214  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

and  a  kursaal  on  one  side,  and  a  magnificent 
beach  with  rolling  surf  on  the  other.  The  walk 
is  thronged  with  men  and  women  whose  hand- 
some apparel  and  blase  expression  proclaim 
that  money  is  plentiful,  but  that  it  will  not  buy 
satisfaction.  Only  the  children  really  enjoy 
this  delightful  spot  and  their  little  brown  arms 
and  legs  are  in  constant  action  on  the  sand  and 
in  the  water. 

After  dinner  we  listened  for  a  while  to  a 
concert  and  then  returned  to  our  villa.  The 
key  to  our  room  door  could  not  be  found. 
Great  Gallic  excitement.  Monsieur  le  proprie- 
taire,  to  whom  we  had  given  it,  had  gone  out. 
We  sat  on  the  stairs  while  the  elevator  boy, 
porter  and  chambermaid  ran  up  and  down 
stairs  and  conversed  loudly  from  one  floor  to 
another.  Being  in  a  hurry,  they  did  not  use 
the  lift.  Finally  it  was  discovered  that  the  key 
to  the  room  across  the  hall  would  unlock  our 
door,  but  would  not  lock  it.  However,  we  are 
not  afraid.  If  there  are  any  burglars  in  Ostend 
they  are  all  too  busy  running  hotels  to  break 
into  our  room.  Besides,  this  room,  although 
the  most  expensive,  is  also  the  smallest  one  we 
have  occupied  since  leaving  New  York,  not 


Courtrai  and  Ostend  215 

even  excepting  our  steamer  cabin.  There  is 
not  space  in  it  for  a  burglar.  We  are  handed 
our  bill  in  the  hall  to  keep  from  crowding  the 
apartment. 

Our  view  at  breakfast  is  superb.  The  combs 
of  the  breakers  roll  in  for  miles  in  either  direc- 
tion. The  Digue  is  filling  with  promenaders. 
Bathing  machines  are  being  rented  and  hauled 
into  the  surf.  Each  machine  has  a  number,  and 
it  is  very  important  to  remember  your  number 
for  locations  are  occasionally  changed  while 
you  are  in  the  water. 

People  of  both  sexes  and  all  ages  are  en- 
gaged in  playing  Diabolo,  and  marvelous  skill 
is  displayed  by  some  of  them. 

It  is  not  a  good  morning  for  photographs. 
There  is  not  enough  sunlight.  Otherwise  we 
might  bring  home  some  rather  startling  reve- 
lations in  the  way  of  continental  bathing  ap- 
parel. In  defense  of  their  frankness  in  such 
matters  it  is  only  fair  to  add  that  their  bathing 
suits  are  used  for  bathing  purposes,  and  the 
women  are  never  seen  walking  or  lying  on  the 
beach  in  them. 

As  at  Scheveningen,  the  sand  is  full  of  pretty 
little  shells,  and  in  a  short  walk  we  fill  our 


216  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

pockets.  As  the  morning  advances  the  tide 
retreats  and  bathers  arrive  by  the  score.  Still 
the  children  seem  most  "in  the  picture,"  as  they 
build  their  sand  forts  or  bathe  their  dolls  in 
pools  left  by  the  tide. 

One  morning  of  it  is  enough  for  us.  We 
are  in  the  crowd  but  not  of  it.  We  drive  to 
the  depot,  and  on  our  way  we  have  a  contrast- 
ing picture  to  study.  Two  blocks  from  the 
depot  a  porter  sights  our  luggage  and  runs 
beside  our  carriage  until  we  reach  the  station 
to  get  a  few  cents  for  helping  us  aboard  the 
train. 


Bruges  217 


XXVII 


T  takes  less  than  half  an  hour  to  reach 
Bruges,  and  there  you  can  set  your 
watch  back  four  hundred  years.  That 
such  a  dreamy  old  spot  could  slumber  so  near 
the  noise  and  glare  of  Ostend  seems  impossible. 
You  feel  as  though  you  had  taken  the  "road 
to  yesterday"  and  had  been  carried  past. 

Bruges  is  so  named  from  its  numerous 
bridges  which  cross  its  intersecting  canals  at 
scores  of  points,  and  at  every  crossing  a  picture 
is  formed  of  rich  color,  blended  and  har- 
monized by  age  and  softened  by  the  contact  of 
water  in  which  it  is  repeated  with  hardly  a 
quaver. 

It  is  an  old  town.  It  was  laid  out  in  the 
seventh  century,  and  now  in  its  dotage  it  nods 
on  the  shady  banks  of  its  canals  and  tells  of 
how  it  once  headed  the  Flemish  Hansa;  of  how 
Philip  the  Good  instituted  the  Order  of  the 


218  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

Golden  Fleece  within  its  walls,  the  only  surviv- 
ing chapter  of  which  seems  to  be  at  Ostend; 
and  how  Johanna,  queen  of  France,  once  de- 
clared that  she  found  hundreds  of  women  of 
Bruges  whose  attire  vied  with  her  own.  Now 
her  principal  visitors  are  the  artists  who  love 
to  attempt  the  transfer  of  her  baffling  beauty 
to  canvas,  and  her  principal  commerce  is  post 
cards. 

We  find  a  front  room  at  the  Panier  d'Or 
whose  basket  at  the  apex  of  its  high  gable 
once  may  have  been  golden,  but  is  so  no  longer. 
Our  window  looks  out  at  the  belfry  in  the 
center  of  the  Grand  Square,  and  was  there 
ever  such  luck?  This  is  Wednesday,  and  the 
chimes  are  played  all  day  on  Wednesday.  In 
every  place  in  the  town  their  sweet  rich  tones 
reach  us. 

We  walk  past  the  statue  of  the  two  leaders 
in  the  Battle  of  the  Spurs,  Pieter  de  Conine  and 
Jan  Breidel,  to  the  Chapel  of  the  Holy  Blood. 
This  is  a  small  church  which  was  built  as  a 
repository  for  some  drops  of  the  Savior's  blood 
brought  from  the  Holy  Land  in  1149.  These 
are  exhibited  every  Friday  morning,  but  we  did 
not  stay  over.  No  one  has  tampered  with  the 


Bruges  219 

relic  since  it  reached  Bruges.  Of  that  we  are 
confident.  But  there  is  a  lack  of  confirmatory 
detail  between  the  time  of  the  crucifixion  and 
1149  that  makes  us  skeptical.  We  would  not 
jar  any  one's  else  faith  for  the  world,  but  we 
are  not  thoroughly  convinced.  There  is  an 
interesting  museum  in  the  upper  chapel  con- 
taining some  old  lace  and  paintings. 

The  Hotel  de  Ville  is  near  the  chapel.  It 
has  a  magnificent  Great  Hall  Chamber  roofed 
in  massive  oak. 

The  drives  along  the  canals  are  all  beautiful. 
The  most  perfect  reflections  are  found  in  the 
water  of  the  Quay  of  Mirrors,  back  of  Jan 
Van  Eyck  Place,  adorned  with  a  statue  of  the 
artist.  The  swan  is  the  municipal  bird  and  it 
adds  to  the  beauty  of  the  little  canals.  All  this 
is  within  twenty-five  minutes  ride  of  Ostend, 
where  100,000  people  are  spending  a  million 
dollars  a  day  in  trying  to  enjoy  themselves. 

In  the  Hospital  of  St.  John  are  a  number 
of  Memling's  paintings,  including  his  master- 
piece, the  "Chasse  of  St.  Ursula."  This  depicts 
scenes  in  the  life  of  the  saint  from  her  de- 
parture from  Cologne  to  her  martyrdom,  and 
that  of  the  maidens  who  accompanied  her.  The 


22O  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

work  is  executed  with  marvelous  fidelity  to 
detail,  and  when  examined  under  a  microscope 
reveals  a  painful  exactness  of  execution.  It  is 
beautiful  in  design  and  coloring. 

Another  painstaking  work  is  a  winged  pic- 
ture of  John  the  Baptist  and  John  the  Evan- 
gelist. 

A  small  triptych  near  the  door  is  interesting 
because  in  it  Memling  has  delineated  his  own 
features  among  those  present  at  the  "Adoration 
of  the  Magi." 

Notre  Dame,  adjoining  the  hospital,  is  full 
of  interest.  The  tomb  of  Charles  the  Bold  and 
Mary  his  daughter  are  there.  She  married 
Emperor  Maximillian  and  was  the  grand- 
mother of  Charles  V. 

The  tomb  is  a  marvel  of  brass  work.  The 
coats  of  arms  of  all  the  allied  houses  from 
which  they  descended  are  carved  thereon,  while 
the  lace  work  and  ermine  of  the  apparel  is 
beautifully  done.  This  seemingly  endless 
group  of  insignia  helps  one  to  understand  the 
marvelous  combination  of  marriages  which  cul- 
minated in  the  formation  of  the  empire  over 
which  Charles  V.  was  ruler,  an  empire  includ- 
ing half  the  civilized  world. 


Bruges  221 

The  church  contains  paintings  by  Van  Dyck 
and  a  marble  group  by  Michael  Angelo.  The 
most  interesting  portion,  however,  is  the  en- 
trance to  the  old  chapel  of  Mary  of  Burgundy. 
Its  purple  tinged  glass  gives  a  weird  light  to 
the  interior.  She  did  not  worship  long  in  this 
tiny  chapel,  but  was  thrown  from  her  horse 
and  killed  four  years  after  her  marriage. 

Near  our  hotel  are  many  historic  spots.  On 
one  side  of  the  square  is  the  house  where 
Charles  II.  lived  during  his  exile  from  Eng- 
land. Near  it  is  the  Cranenburg  where  Maxi- 
milian himself  was  imprisoned  for  four  months 
.by  the  pugnacious  burghers  of  Bruges.  He 
was  released  upon  giving  his  kingly  pledge 
to  grant  certain  rights  to  Bruges.  It  is  hardly 
necessary  to  tell  the  student  of  history  that 
the  pledge  was  broken  just  as  soon  as  possible 
after  his  liberation. 

In  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  you  can 
view  a  peculiar  piece  of  adoration.  The 
brothers  Adornes  constructed  a  facsimile  of  the 
Holy  Sepulchre  and  built  a  church  over  it. 
You  almost  crawl  through  a  low  aperture  into 
a  dimly  lighted  apartment  and  see  what  is 
probably  a  good  reproduction.  There  is  a 


222  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

bronze  of  one  of  the  brothers  and  his  wife  over 
their  grave  just  within  the  entrance  to  the 
church. 

Before  dinner  we  took  an  aimless  stroll 
through  some  of  the  back  streets.  A  pretty 
canal  attracted  us.  We  stood  on  the  bridge 
and  looked  into  the  placid  water.  We  hap- 
pened to  notice  the  dates  on  the  two  buildings 
flanking  the  bridge.  One  was  built  in  1614 
and  the  other  in  1608.  The  irons  that  form 
the  figures  of  the  date  in  each  instance  are 
fastened  to  the  ends  of  the  rods  which  help  to 
sustain  the  walls. 

The  man  who  invented  decimals  was  born 
in  Bruges.  His  name  was  Stevin  and  he  has 
a  monument  somewhere  in  town.  We  did  not 
look  him  up,  but  we  were  surprised  to  learn 
that  decimals  were  invented.  We  thought  they 
"just  growed,"  like  Topsy. 

As  w'e  sit  at  breakfast  two  children,  whose 
ages  we  estimate  at  five  and  seven  years  re- 
spectively, are  nonchalantly  puffing  cigarettes 
on  the  curb.  They  evince  no  consciousness  of 
"showing  off"  and  attract  no  attention  from 
the  adult  natives.  Our  table  companions  are 
two  young  men  from  London,  who  are  doing 


Bruges  223 

the  Continent,  one  of  whom  admits  that  he 
never  saw  the  interior  of  Westminster  Abbey. 
It  is  evident  that  others  beside  Americans  must 
be  reproached  for  traveling  abroad  before  see- 
ing their  own  country. 


224  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


XXVIII 
Ghent 

HENT  is  a  short  ride  from  Bruges,  and 
it  is  even  more  a  city  of  bridges.  It 
stands  on  twenty-six  islands,  joined  by 
two  hundred  and  seventy  bridges.  Charles  V. 
was  born  here,  and  it  is  lucky  for  Ghent  that 
he  was,  for  that  fact  saved  the  city  from  severe 
punishment  at  his  hands  on  one  occasion.  He 
satisfied  his  kingly  ire  by  executing  twenty-five 
or  thirty  malcontents,  and  ended  several  days 
of  terror  by  making  the  burgomasters  crawl  at 
his  feet  with  halters  about  their  necks. 

In  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Bavon  there  is  a 
beautiful  marble  "Madonna  and  Child,"  and  a 
picture  of  "The  Raising  of  Lazarus,"  painted 
by  the  teacher  of  Rubens,  Vaenius.  In  Rubens' 
picture  of  "St.  Bavon  Renouncing  the  Army 
for  the  Church,"  the  artist  has  painted  himself, 
his  father,  his  two  wives  and  three  children 
into  the  scene. 


AUGUSTINE'S    BRIDGE— BRUGES 


Ghent  225 

The  star  attraction  of  the  cathedral  is  the 
Van  Eycks'  winged  picture  "The  Adoration  of 
the  Lamb."  The  dominating  figure  is  the 
Christ.  It  is  hard  to  realize  that  mere  pigment 
could  convey  to  canvas  such  dignity  blended 
with  love  and  such  serenity,  not  the  serenity 
of  the  mystic  far  removed  from  the  travail  of 
men,  but  the  serenity  of  one  who  knows  the 
problems  that  beset  his  brethren  but  at  the  same 
time  knows  that  these  problems  can  be  solved. 

But  we  would  not  enthuse  over  the  land- 
scape in  the  other  pictures,  although  we  were 
surrounded  by  gasping  enthusiasts  who  were 
urged  on  by  an  eloquent  guide,  and  who  raved 
over  trees  and  hills  that  were  as  badly  out  of 
plumb  as  the  scenery  on  a  Japanese  fan. 

Pourbus  the  Elder,  in  his  "Christ  Among 
the  Doctors,"  has  painted  a  crowd  that  could 
never  have  been  assembled  anywhere  but  on 
canvas  and  by  a  highly  imaginative  artist. 
There  are  Charles  V.,  Philip  II.,  Alva,  William 
the  Silent  and  Pourbus  himself,  all  in  the 
Temple. 

Opposite  the  west  front  of  the  cathedral  is 
the  belfry.  In  it  swings  the  big  bell,  Roland, 
as  closely  associated  with  the  history  of  Ghent 


226  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

as  is  Liberty  Bell  with  that  of  the  United 
States.  So  eloquent  was  its  iron  tongue  in 
calling  Ghent  to  arms  that  at  the  time  of  the 
halter  episode  Charles  V.  decreed  its  destruc- 
tion. But  it  was  saved  any  worse  fate  than 
hanging,  and  it  still  swings  in  the  old  tower, 
although  re-cast  in  the  seventeenth  century. 

The  old  ceilings  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  are 
its  most  attractive  feature.  It  was  built  at 
three  widely  separated  intervals.  They  ap- 
parently thought  nothing  of  building  one 
fagade  of  a  building  and  resting  a  couple  of 
centuries  before  starting  another  one. 

The  Chateau  of  the  Counts  is  a  picturesque 
old  ruin.  It  dates  from  the  ninth  century,  but 
was  rebuilt  in  1180,  and  it  needs  kalsomining 
and  a  new  hall  carpet  already.  Jacques  van 
Artevelde,  "the  brewer  of  Ghent,"  lived  here 
until  he  met  the  fate  of  many  a  demagogue 
before  and  since,  and  the  power  which  he  had 
awakened  in  the  people  turned  on  him.  You 
can  walk  around  the  inner  platform  and  peer 
through  the  port  holes  and  form  a  good  idea 
of  a  mediaeval  fortress.  The  central  dungeon 
has  four  stories.  The  torture  chamber  is  in 
the  basement. 


Ghent  227 

In  the  Carthusian  Convent  was  signed  the 
Treaty  of  Ghent  which  ended  the  war  of  1812 
between  England  and  the  United  States.  Sev- 
eral of  the  rooms  in  this  convent  are  papered 
with  elaborate  designs  executed  with  thousands 
of  canceled  postage  stamps. 

The  Petit  Beguinage  of  St.  Bavon  contains 
three  hundred  little  houses  occupied  by  lay 
sisters  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church.  Each 
house  has  a  walled  court  shutting  it  from  the 
view  of  passers  by.  Each  court  has  a  door 
bearing  the  name  of  some  saint.  Thus  rigidly 
do  these  good  ladies  think  it  necessary  to  rein- 
force their  self  control.  From  one  door  the 
saint's  name  has  been  removed,  indicating  that 
the  place  has  changed  saints.  Possibly  tomor- 
row they  will  put  out  a  sign  to  that  effect  or 
one  reading,  "Wanted :  A  good  saint  with  ref- 
erences." An  excellent  quality  of  lace  is  sold 
on  the  grounds. 

Belgians  seem  inordinately  afraid  of  water 
inside  and  out.  Barometers  are  as  numerous 
as  thermometers,  and  every  one  has  an  um- 
brella. At  the  slightest  mist — up  it  goes. 

We  have  not  yet  recovered  our  equilibrium 
over  the  assaults  on  our  self  respect  made  by 


228  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

the  covert  sneers  of  the  people  who  were  en- 
thusing over  the  perspective  and  atmosphere 
in  the  Van  Eyck  "Adoration."  When  will  the 
world  cease  to  rave  over  beauties  that  do  not 
exist  in  old  paintings,  or  which,  if  they  exist 
at  all,  are  visible  to  the  eye  of  the  trained 
artist  alone?  Let  us  grant  that,  considering 
the  age  and  the  materials  and  the  environ- 
ment, the  Van  Eycks  did  wonders.  Let  us 
look  at  their  productions  as  we  do  at  the 
guns  used  at  Waterloo,  as  antiquities,  but  let 
us  not  shut  our  eyes  to  the  progress  made  in 
painting  as  in  fighting.  The  modern  galleries 
possess  more  of  life  and  color,  as  we  see  it, 
than  the  best  Old  Masters  ever  hung.  The 
"Night  Watch"  and  some  others  are  good 
enough  to  be  modern,  but  most  of  them  would 
stand  no  more  show,  stripped  of  their  labels 
and  placed  in  honest  competition  with  modern 
pictures,  than  would  Nelson  with  his  equip- 
ment against  Dewey  or  Togo  with  modern 
battle  ships. 

I  never  saw  a  Madonna  to  whose  arms  any 
baby  would  fly,  nor  did  I  ever  see  the  Holy 
Infant  portrayed  as  the  radiant,  healthy,  nor- 
mal babe  such  as  I  love  to  think  He  was.  There 


Ghent  229 

are  undoubtedly  lovelier  Madonnas  than  I  have 
seen,  but  I  am  speaking  of  the  hundreds  I 
have  seen.  The  nearest  approach  to  the  ex- 
pression of  loving  maternity  that  I  recall  is 
in  the  marble  group  in  the  Cathedral  of  St. 
Bavon,  and  it  is  not  even  mentioned  in  Bae- 
deker and  other  works  on  art. 

As  for  landscapes,  more  convincing  ones 
decorate  theatrical  drop  curtains. 

If  those  beauties  really  exist  to  ,the  trained 
eye,  why  write  about  them  in  books  intended 
for  the  multitude  ?  Suppose  a  person  so  highly 
endowed  with  sense  perception  that  he  could 
hear  the  grass  grow  and  see  flies  walking  on 
steeples,  should  write  a  guide  book  and  tell 
you  that  the  grass  growing  in  Holland  made  a 
distinctly  different  tone,  or  that  the  hay  was 
pitched  higher  than  in  France,  he  would  un- 
doubtedly command  some  followers  who  would 
stand  on  the  edge  of  a  Friesland  cow  pasture 
and  say  they  could  hear  sweet  tones.  And  their 
hypocrisy  would  differ  in  degree,  but  not  in 
kind,  from  that  of  many  rhapsodists  who  wor- 
ship old  paintings. 


230  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


XXIX 

Antwerp 

Y  that  time  our  train  had  reached  Ant- 
werp, the  metropolis  of  Belgium  and 
one  of  the  greatest  seaports  in  Europe. 
Her  most  celebrated  margrave  was  Godfrey  of 
Bouillon. 

Antwerp  derives  its  name  from  a  cheerful 
way  they  had  of  collecting  the  tariff  in  legend- 
ary days  by  cutting  off  the  hand  of  any  one 
caught  smuggling.  It  means  "hand-werpen" 
or  hand  throwing.  The  Province  of  Brabant 
was  named  after  Brabo,  who  overthrew  the 
custom  and  the  custom  house  with  it. 

The  neighborhood  of  its  docks  presents  all 
the  usual  temptations  for  relieving  poor  sailors 
of  their  possessions.  So  many  English  seamen 
were  robbed  there  that  the  British  Consul 
arranged  an  ingenious  scheme  of  issuing  pay 
notes  not  negotiable  outside  of  England.  Now 
the  English  sailor  is  not  robbed  until  he  gets 


STATUE    OP   UUBEXS — ANTWERP 


Antwerp  23 1 

home.  Great  Britain  has  hung  up  the  sign, 
"Do  not  go  next  door  and  be  cheated.  Come 
in  here." 

Antwerp  has  arisen  from  the  ashes  often 
enough  to  have  scorched  the  pin  feathers  of  a 
phoenix.  Her  worst  disaster  was  the  "Fury  of 
Antwerp"  in  15/6,  when  she  was  pillaged  and 
burned  by  mutinous  and  drunken  Spanish  sol- 
diers. Then  she  suffered  a  fourteen  months' 
siege  by  Alexander  of  Parma  in  1584-5.  In 
1589  her  population  was  reduced  to  55,000. 
Then  she  lost  her  commerce  to  the  Dutch  and 
the  Scheldt  was  closed,  until  in  1790  she  had 
only  40,000  people.  Napoleon  helped  her  some, 
and  she  was  just  getting  'on  her  feet  when 
the  revolution  of  1830  prostrated  her  again. 
But  her  natural  advantages  as  a  port  enabled 
her  to  surmount  all  obstacles,  and  today  she 
has  within  her  borders  355,000  souls. 

Antwerp  is  metropolitan  in  aspect.  Her 
Central  Station  is  one  of  the  finest  depots  in 
the  world.  The  drive  down  the  Boulevard  des 
Arts  is  charming  in  any  conveyance  except  an 
ambulance  or  a  hotel  bus.  Hotel  buses  are 
made  from  Roman  chariots,  with  the  springs 


232  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

removed  and  loose  panes  of  glass  inserted  in 
the  sides. 

The  Place  Verte  is  the  nucleus  of  the  city. 
The  car  lines  converge  at  that  point  and  there 
are  benches  and  a  waiting  room  for  loiterers. 
A  bronze  statue  of  Rubens  adorns  its  center, 
and  today  it  is  radiant  with  the  blooms  of  a 
flower  market. 

In  the  Grand  Place  a  butter  market  is  in 
progress.  On  the  west  side  rises  the  Hotel  de 
Ville.  It  has  a  beautiful  staircase  of  various 
Belgian  marbles  up  which  the  king  and  his 
retinue  may  climb  when  they  visit  Antwerp. 
Tourists  and  packages  are  delivered  in  the  rear. 
There  is  much  beautiful  paneling  of  carved 
wood.  The  great  hall  is  lined  with  well  exe- 
cuted paintings  of  historical  events. 

At  the  Royal  Museum  we  saw  the  best  gal- 
lery in  Belgium.  In  it  are  three  of  Rubens' 
masterpieces,  "The  Adoration  of  the  Magi," 
"Christ  Between  the  Thieves"  and  "Christ  on 
the  Pallet  of  Straw." 

We  saw  Matsy's  triptych,  "The  Entomb- 
ment," but  we  liked  his  wrought  iron  well 
curb  in  front  of  the  Cathedral  much  better. 
Matsy  was  a  blacksmith  when  he  fell  in  love 


Antwerp  233 

with  the  daughter  of  a  painter,  and,  in  order 
to  obtain  her  father's  consent  to  his  suit, 
studied  painting  and  became  a  great  artist. 
Matsy's  Well  shows  as  true  artistic  taste  in 
shaping  iron  as  he  exhibited  later  with  the 
brush.  We  sit  awhile  in  front  of  Van  Dyck's 
"Entombment,"  and  then  inquire  the  way  to 
the  modern  paintings.  Arriving  in  that  part 
of  the  Museum  we  drop  with  a  sigh  of  grati- 
tude in  front  of  a  wholesome  landscape  by 
Elsen,  which  has  not  a  drop  of  blood  or  a 
corpse  in  it.  What  good  does  it  do  to  multiply 
revolting  representations  of  the  death  of  our 
Savior  and  neglect  the  beautiful  things  of  His 
life? 

Near  the  Elsen  landscape  is  a  canal  by  Col- 
lart,  into  which  you  can  almost  dip  your  fingers 
and  moisten  your  heated  brow. 

Leaving  the  Royal  Museum  we  visit  the 
Musee  Plantin-Moretus,  which  fares  the  noisy 
and  crowded  little  Friday  Market,  in  which 
everything  is  being  auctioned  from  a  knitting 
needle  to  a  plaster  statue  five  feet  high.  Second 
hand  bicycles  are  numerous. 

The  Musee  is  most  interesting,  as  it  shows 
the  combined  work-shop,  sales  room  and  resi- 


234  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

dence  of  a  well-to-do  and  enterprising  sixteenth 
century  printer  and  engraver.  Every  detail  of 
the  shop  is  preserved  with  a  care  that  amounts 
to  reverence.  The  engraved  copper  plates  give 
one  a  better  idea  of  the  painstaking  skill  re- 
quired to  produce  them  than  do  the  prints 
made  from  them.  There  are  many  family 
portraits  by  Rubens  on  the  walls.  The  presses 
are  still  in  working  order,  and  samples  of 
recent  work  done  on  them  may  be  purchased. 
The  attendants  are  artistically  clad  in  brown 
suits,  with  knickerbockers  and  caps  of  the  six- 
teenth century  cut.  Much  beautiful  work  is 
shown  in  illuminated  prayer  books  and  missals 
that  equal  in  beauty  and  surpass  in  workman- 
ship the  product  of  the  best  modern  shops. 
The  preservation  of  this  Musee  deserves  the 
gratitude  of  every  student  of  mediaeval  customs 
and  history. 

We  adjourn  to  a  little  ivy  covered  bower  on 
the  pavement  near  the  Place  Verte  and  wait 
for  our  coffee  to  drip  through  an  individual 
percolator  into  a  glass  similar  to  those  used 
for  soda  water  at  home. 

A  very  well  mannered  dog  follows  us  to  our 
table  and  snuggles  up  in  a  corner  remote  from 


Antwerp  235 

the  garden's  vision  and  calmly  awaits  events. 
Evidently  some  Brussels  dog  has  dropped  him 
a  line  to  look  out  for  a  lady  in  gray,  who  is 
susceptible  to  the  appeal  in  a  hungry  canine's 
eye.  We  seldom  eat  alone.  Either  a  dog  or 
a  cat  spots  B.  as  soon  as  we  sit  down,  and 
then  she  orders  what  she  thinks  our  guest  will 
enjoy.  The  present  incumbent  has  good  table 
manners  and  awaits  his  turn  patiently.  When 
we  finish  our  meat  and  the  salad  is  brought, he 
departs  with  a  grateful  wag  of  his  tail.  In 
return  for  our  hospitality  he  gave  us  the  only 
thing  he  possessed.  We  know  we  have  it, 
although  we  cannot  put  our  hand  on  it. 

In  Notre  Dame  are  three  of  Rubens'  most 
famous  paintings:  "The  Descent  from  the 
Cross,"  "The  Elevation  of  the  Cross"  and 
"The  Assumption."  All  are  beautiful,  but  as 
we  looked  at  the  last  named  the  sun  came  out 
and  bathed  it  in  light  for  a  moment,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  the  gates  of  Paradise  had  opened. 
The  artist  has  succeeded  in  making  an  atmos- 
phere of  heavenly  radiance  that  is  indescribable. 

If  I  have  said  anything  in  my  previous  notes 
reflecting  on  Old  Masters,  I  wish  to  withdraw 
my  criticism  so  far  as  Peter  Paul  Rubens  is 


236  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

concerned.  The  two  pictures,  "The  Descent 
from  the  Cross"  and  "The  Elevation,"  are 
marvelous  presentations  of  vigor  and  action. 
They  make  intensely  real  two  most  distressing 
scenes.  The  art  which  marked  the  shade  of 
difference  between  the  winding  sheet  and  the 
death  pallor  of  the  Savior's  body  has  been 
commented  on  over  and  over  again,  and  the 
almost  brutal  fidelity  to  detail  which  places  a 
corner  of  the  sheet  between  the  teeth  of  a 
Roman  soldier  has  been  criticised  as  revolting, 
but  it  all  seems  part  of  the  picture. 

But  these  brilliant  exceptions  only  emphasize 
the  fact  that  the  great  majority  of  the  Pietas, 
Annunciations,  Assumptions,  Adorations,  Ele- 
vations and  Descents,  made  in  wood  or  marble 
or  painted  on  canvas,  boards  or  plaster,  could 
well  be  spared  by  a  weary  world. 

Strangers  are  not  admitted  to  Rubens'  house, 
but  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  court  and  sum- 
mer house  while  we  reasoned  with  the  care- 
taker. Nothing  else  remains  of  the  home  which 
he  built  in  1612  and  in  which  he  died  in  1640 
at  the  age  of  sixty-three. 

The  old  Waterpoort  was  designed  by  him 
and  built  in  1624.  Over  its  arched  portal  lies 


OLD   GATE    BY   RUBEN'S — ANTWERP 


Antwerp  237 

a  recumbent  river  god,  and  sparrows  quarrel 
over  the  best  locations  for  nests  about  his 
anatomy. 

The  Antwerp  Zoo  is  splendidly  arranged.  In 
the  monkey  house  they  have  the  most  human 
looking  chimpanzee  who  became  intensely  in- 
terested in  our  pocket  mirror  and  made  all 
sorts  of  faces  at  himself  in  it,  and  then  tried 
to  peer  behind  it  to  locate  his  vis-a-vis.  He 
had  on  a  short  red  jacket  and  slept  in  a  little 
bed. 

In  this  Zoo  are  specimens  of  everything  that 
swims,  flies,  walks  or  creeps.  The  elephant 
here,  as  everywhere,  is  a  prime  favorite  and 
has  been  trained  by  his  sagacious  keeper  to  beg 
for  pennies.  When  one  is  thrown  to  him  he 
knocks  vigorously  on  the  wall  and  summons 
his  keeper,  who  gives  him  a  morsel  of  bread  in 
exchange  for  the  penny.  In  this  way  a  pocket 
full  of  bread  in  the  morning  becomes  a  pocket 
full  of  coin  by  evening. 

The  Zoo  is  well  supplied  with  benches  and 
refreshment  booths,  and  you  can  spend  many 
hours  there  enjoyably.  The  lion  houses  are 
magnificent  and  near  them  are  domiciled  speci- 


238  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

mens  of  that  much  rarer  beast,  the  American 
buffalo. 

We  left  the  grounds  by  means  of  an  avenue 
lined  on  both  sides  by  brilliant  lined  parrots, 
each  chained  to  a  perch  and  squawking  vigor- 
ously. Sometimes  the  vocal  rivalry  results  in 
throwing  a  bird  off  his  balance,  and  his  efforts 
to  regain  his  perch  remind  one  of  a  man  get- 
ting into  an  upper  berth  in  a  storm  tossed 
steamer. 

In  the  evening  we  attended  an  indoor  circus 
and  water  carnival.  The  performance  was 
carried  on  with  a  laborious  and  conscientious 
attention  to  detail  that  marks  so  much  of  the 
work  done  over  here.  The  circus  ring  was 
gradually  stripped  of  its  carpets  as  act  followed 
act.  After  the  circus  had  finished,  scenery 
was  lowered  from  the  dome  and  a  maze  of 
elaborate  spectacle  and  ballet  followed.  The 
performance  concluded  with  a  flooded  arena 
and  an  illuminated  fountain.  The  audience 
was  orderly  and  almost  childish  in  its  enjoy- 
ment. The  program  did  not  contain  a  single 
objectionable  feature.  The  horses  showed 
wonderful  training  and  the  clowns  were  mas- 
ters of  pantomime. 


Antwerp  239 

When  it  was  all  over  we  took  tram  3  for 
Place  Verte,  reaching  there  at  eleven  thirty. 
After  sitting  in  the  waiting  room  for  fifteen 
minutes  we  inquired  of  a  policeman  for  a  car 
to  our  hotel  and  found  that  the  cars  on  that 
line  did  not  run  after  eleven  o'clock.  We  woke 
up  a  cabman  and  rode  home.  The  hotel  was 
locked  and  we  had  to  ring  a  bell  to  get  in. 
Can  you  imagine  an  American  city  of  over 
three  hundred  thousand  people  taking  in  its 
trolley  cars  and  going  to  bed  at  that  hour? 


240  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


XXX 

The  Island  of  Walchcrcn 

E  returned  to  Holland  by  way  of  Rosen- 
daal,  a  frontier  town  which  has 
stamped  nothing  on  our  memories  but 
its  double  custom  house,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  railroad  tracks,  and  its  first-class  cooking 
at  the  little  depot.  Our  forty-six  minute  ride 
was  spaced  off  by  four  brisk  showers.  Fortu- 
nately we  had  an  interval  of  sunshine,  which 
enabled  us  to  traverse  the  town  its  full  length 
down  to  its  tiny  canal  harbor  filled  with  fishing 
smacks  and  back  to  its  inevitable  church  and 
stadhuis.  The  whole  place  is  modern  and  all 
uninteresting,  but  the  people  are  the  same  de- 
lightful Hollanders  that  we  have  grown  to  love. 
An  interesting  family  is  at  the  adjoining 
table.  It  consists  of  a  father,  mother  and  four 
daughters.  The  baby  girl  is  three  or  four 
years  old  and  the  pet  of  the  other  five  members 
of  the  family.  She  is  amusing  even  without 


The  Island  of  Walcheren  241 

an  interpreter,  as  she  tells  of  some  adventure 
in  Dutch  baby  talk.  As  each  dish  is  brought, 
she  stands  on  her  chair  to  peer  in,  and  claps 
her  hands  when  an  especial  favorite  is  served. 
Nevertheless,  when,  tempted  by  the  presence 
of  appreciative  strangers,  she  gets  too  demon- 
strative, a  word  from  papa  instantly  quiets  her 
without  any  tears  or  remonstrances,  but  quite 
as  a  matter  of  course.  Papa  is  king  of  his 
household,  and  no  one  is  served  until  his  plate 
has  been  heaped.  The  whole  family  drink  beer 
with  their  luncheon,  even  the  little  one  getting 
her  portion. 

To  discuss  the  weather  is  generally  viewed 
as  an  admission  of  conversational  bankruptcy, 
and  to  devote  a  paragraph  to  such  a  frayed 
topic  is  perilous.  But  the  word  "weather"  as- 
sumes an  entirely  new  meaning  in  Holland. 
Most  dwellers  in  the  United  States  regard  it 
as  a  more  or  less  fixed  atmospheric  condition, 
remaining  unchanged  for  intervals  varying 
from  a  few  hours  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Michi- 
gan, to  the  long,  yellow,  brazen  weeks  of  a 
prairie  drouth.  It  is  no  such  monotonous 
creature  in  Holland.  As  if  to  amend  for  the 
plodding  patience  of  everything  human  which 


242  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

it  surrounds,  the  weather  is  a  thing  of  moods 
only  a  few  minutes  in  duration.  As  flat  as 
an  ironing  board,  Holland  is  swept  from  east 
to  west  by  unobstructed  showers  which  fill  their 
clouds  with  North  Sea  water  and  swing  back 
again.  We  are  constantly  busy  opening  the 
windows  on  one  side  of  our  car  and  closing 
them  on  the  other  as  Mother  Nature  flaps  her 
wet  clouds  back  and  forth,  slapping  first  one 
side  of  our  train  and  then  the  other  until  we 
seem  to  be  passing  under  a  titanic  clothes  line 
blown  to  and  fro  by  the  wind. 

A  most  explosive  young  German  artist 
shared  our  compartment  from  Antwerp.  A 
chance  remark  aroused  him  and  he  revealed 
an  excellent  vocabulary  of  vituperative  English 
in  telling  of  his  experience  in  having  some 
Belgian  soldiers  quartered  on  him  recently  in 
a  first  class  compartment.  Then  he  roundly 
denounced  the  whole  country,  its  king,  its 
people  and  its  practices.  He  had  a  high  voice, 
and  it  would  mount  higher  and  higher  in  his 
wrath  until  it  would  get  beyond  his  control. 
At  such  times  he  would  return  to  pitch  by 
saying:  "What  I  mean  to  say  is — "  excruciat- 


The  Island  of  Walcheren  243 

ingly  like  Bobby  Gaylor  with  his  "Well — anny- 
how." 

The  road  to  Flushing  is  through  a  marshy 
country,  half  land,  half  sea,  and  at  some  point 
you  make  the  transition  to  an  island,  for  Flush- 
ing is  on. the  island  of  Walcheren.  But  it  is 
hard  to  define  the  point  where  it  ceases  to  be 
muddy  water  and  becomes  muddy  land.  The 
Scheldt  is  on  our  right  and  the  atmosphere  is 
raw  and  cold  even  on  an  August  day.  A  long 
dike  forms  part  of  our  horizon.  We  pass  pas- 
tures with  sea  gulls  in  them.  Some  sort  of 
drainage  operations  are  being  carried  on  with 
a  uniformed  officer  in  charge  of  a  gang  of  men. 
Much  of  the  ground  looks  like  a  newly  made 
polder. 

At  Krabbendijk  we  get  glimpses  of  the  Zee- 
land  costumes,  the  oddest  in  Holland.  Three 
types  of  women  are  at  the  depot.  They  all 
wear  short,  tight  sleeves,  queer  head  dresses, 
the  most  compressed  bodices  and  the  most  ex- 
pansive hips  imaginable.  And  they  have  such 
fat,  red,  parboiled  arms.  From  five  years  old 
to  eighty  the  outline  is  the  same. 

Flushing  is  called  Vlissingen  by  the  Dutch 
and  Flessingue  by  the  Belgians.  We  are  for- 


244  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

tunate  enough  to  find  the  bus  from  the  beach 
when  we  reach  the  station.  At  the  beach  there 
is  such  a  tremendous  wind  blowing  that  we 
rent  bath  chairs  and  sit  snugly  out  of  it  and 
watch  the  few  bathers  who  are  daring  enough 
to  brave  the  cold  blasts.  The  patrons  are 
practically  all  Germans  and  are  a  sensible, 
happy,  healthy-looking  lot  of  people.  Our 
chairs  are  gradually  forced  back  by  the  rising 
tide,  so  we  pay  the  boy  two  cents  rental  for 
each  chair  and  return  to  the  hotel  veranda. 

This  is  the  mouth  of  the  Scheldt,  but  it  is 
tidewater  and  indistinguishable  from  the  North 
Sea.  Breskens,  on  the  Belgian  coast,  is  in  plain 
sight  across  the  three  miles  of  turbulent  river. 
Flushing  is  loved  by  lovers  of  Dutch  liberty 
because  it  was  the  first  town  to  raise  the 
Orange  standard  after  the  Sea  Beggars  took 
Briel.  It  is  entitled  to  their  further  gratitude 
because  it  was  the  place  of  embarkation  of 
Charles  V.  and  his  son,  Philip  II.,  both  of 
whom  saw  their  last  of  this  unconquerable 
country  as  the  low  shores  of  Flushing  blended 
with  the  horizon.  It  was  the  birthplace  of 
Admiral  de  Ruyter,  who  had  the  impudence  to 


The  Island  of  Walcheren  245 

sail  his  war  vessels  up  the  Thames  in  1667  and 
had  all  London  frightened. 

A  dinner  at  the  Grand  Hotel  des  Bains  gives 
you  a  chance  to  see  a  beautiful  sunset  over  the 
circling  waves.  Large  vessels  bound  to  and 
from  Antwerp,  pass  frequently. 

The  town  of  Flushing  is  midway  between 
the  beach  and  the  depot,  just  a  mile  from  each. 
I  was  about  to  grumble  a  question  as  to  why 
they  placed  the  depot  so  far  from  the  town, 
when  I  remembered  that  in  a  similar  case  in 
Iowa,  the  Irish  station  agent  informed  a  re- 
monstrating traveling  man  that  he  supposed  it 
was  because  they  wanted  it  near  the  railroad. 

We  go  back  to  Middelburg  in  eleven  min- 
utes. We  have  return  tickets  from  Flushing 
to  Rosendaal  and  we  will  use  them  between 
Middelburg  and  Bergen  op  Zoom,  two  inter- 
mediate stations.  Our  action  will  probably 
tangle  up  the  Holland  railway  accounting  sys- 
tem somewhat,  but  it  will  save  us  a  little  time 
and  some  money. 

Occasionally,  when  we  are  in  a  hurry  and  do 
not  want  all  of  the  courses  of  a  two-and-a-half 
gulden  table  d'hote,  we  make  selections  of  a 
portion  thereof  and  omit  the  rest.  In  such 


246  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

cases  they  itemize  what  we  select,  and  our  bill 
is  three  gulden  or  more  for  leaving  out  part 
of  our  dinner.  Years  ago  some  mathematician 
expounded  the  axiom  that  "The  sum  of  all  the 
parts  is  equal  to  the  whole."  He  would  have 
been  astonished  to  learn  that  the  sum  of  part 
of  the  parts  is  greater  than  the  whole.  Jerome 
K.  Jerome  tells  us  that  milliners  charge  for 
what  they  take  from  ladies'  bonnets,  and  that 
those  with  the  least  trimming  are  the  most 
expensive.  Apparently  table  d'hotes  are  man- 
aged in  the  same  way. 

The  depot  and  the  boat  landing  at  Flushing 
are  contiguous.  An  English  steamer  has  just 
arrived  in  a  driving  rain.  \Ye  are  safely  en- 
sconced in  our  compartment  and  expect  a  grand 
rush  of  damp  Britishers,  but  only  one  passen- 
ger disembarked. 

Ours  is  the  slow  train  for  Amsterdam,  so 
no  buses  are  at  the  Middelburg  station  when 
it  arrives.  Our  suit  cases  are  placed  on  a  push 
cart  and  we  walk  behind  it  and  our  porter  to 
the  Nieuwe  Doelen,  opposite  the  stadhuis.  The 
latter  is  partly  concealed  by  a  scaffolding,  and 
we  are  sorry  to  have  arrived  at  so  inopportune 
a  time,  until  we  learn  that  the  scaffolding  has 


A    MIDDELBURG    FAMILY    GROUP 


The  Island  of  Walcheren  247 

been  over  some  portion  of  the  building  for 
thirty  or  forty  years.  Then  we  are  glad  we  did 
not  wait. 

There  is  a  provincial  exposition  in  town  of 
old  gold  and  silver,  and  the  streets  are  full  of 
farmers  and  their  families.  After  a  lemon 
squash  in  a  cafe  we  are  wandering  back  to  the 
hotel  when  we  notice  that  hundreds  of  people 
are  quietly  lining  up  on  the  curbs  and  gazing 
toward  the  market  place.  We  said,  "Here!  we 
have  come  five  thousand  miles  to  see  things. 
We  must  not  miss  this."  So  we  got  in  line. 
After  a  few  minutes  we  walked  a  block  nearer 
to  the  focal  point,  then  a  little  nearer;  until 
finally  it  dawned  on  us  that  these  dear,  tranquil 
people  were  waiting  for  a  brass  band  which  had 
been  playing  in  front  of  our  hotel  all  evening. 
They  are  great  lovers  of  music  and  are  patient 
with  a  patience  which  has  rendered  their  great 
accomplishments  possible. 

This  part  of  the  country  gives  you  an  idea 
of  the  web-footed  soldiers  that  formed  part  of 
the  armies  of  William  the  Silent.  Through 
these  trackless  marshes  there  are  paths  under 
the  water  known  to  the  natives  as  the  pilot 
knows  his  harbor.  In  one  instance  a  traitorous 


248  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

betrayal  of  these  secrets  of  the  marsh  gave 
Flushing  into  the  hands  of  Spain  temporarily. 

Again  our  ears  are  delighted  with  chimes. 
These  are  smaller  and  play  more  intricate 
music  than  some  of  the  others.  Mendelssohn's 
Spring  Song  just  came  floating  over  the  air  to 
us  from  a  neighboring  belfry.  The  mosquitoes 
are  not  so  melodious  as  the  chimes  but  they 
strike  oftener. 

We  went  early  to  the  Abbey  and  were  shown 
through  by  a  shirtless  sacristan  in  felt  slippers 
— the  kind  that  are  felt  but  not  heard.  He  did 
not  have  much  English,  and  to  keep  from  ex- 
hausting his  vocabulary  he  handed  us  one  word 
at  a  time.  His  features  were  obliterated  by 
a  grass-like  beard,  and  he  was  as  emotionless 
in  appearance  as  some  of  the  images  he  ex- 
hibited. His  face  gave  no  preliminary  hints 
of  an  approaching  word,  but  would  explode 
under  his  nose  in  a  guttural  ejaculation  at  the 
most  unexpected  moments.  We  would  be 
standing  in  front  of  a  gobelin  tapestry  rapt  in 
contemplation  when  suddenly  "Fifteen  hun- 
derd"  would  issue  from  his  face  somewhere 
and  he  would  close  up  again. 

These  tapestries  are  magnificent.    They  por- 


The  Island  of  Walcheren  249 

tray  naval  scenes  and  the  details  are  given  witf 
the  exactness  of  a  drawing.  Great  battles  are 
depicted  with  men  struggling  among  the 
waves,  while  others  are  huddled  on  a  rock 
with  ships  fighting  or  sinking  all  around  them. 

Four  large  paintings  purloined  from  a  pri- 
vate residence  in  Utrecht  are  exhibited  as 
brazenly  as  though  they  were  honestly  ob- 
tained. 

The  Abbey  is  being  thoroughly  restored  and 
work  is  in  progress.  Two  of  the  vaulted  cham- 
bers through  which  we  passed  date  from  the 
thirteenth  century.  The  Abbey  was  founded 
in  1106,  but,  of  course,  it  is  no  longer  an 
Abbey.  It  is  a  good  old  Dutch  Reformed 
Church,  whitewash  and  all. 

The  Stadhuis  contains  an  interesting  mu- 
seum in  which  are  some  beautiful  old  hand- 
illumined  books  and  documents  of  the  various 
guilds.  The  oldest  existing  deed  in  the  Dutch 
language  is  shown.  This  is  the  charter  granted 
to  the  town  in  1253  by  the  German  William  of 
Holland. 

Personal  relics  of  the  brothers,  Jan  and  Cor- 
nelis  Evertsen,  are  on  exhibition,  including 
locks  of  hair  and  sections  of  their  trousers. 


250  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

These  patriots  fell  in  1666  in  combat  with 
England.  The  articles  are  authentic  and  have 
that  advantage  over  the  reliquaries  palmed  off 
on  the  Crusaders  by  the  tricky  heathen  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  and  wor- 
shiped in  many  of  the  churches  on  the  conti- 
nent. 

We  took  a  long  drive  to  the  dry  dock  and 
past  the  Koepoort,  one  of  the  old  gates  of  the 
town.  We  wound  for  miles  along  the  banks 
of  an  old  serpentine  canal  that  \vould  have 
been  still  prettier  if  it  had  been  strained. 

Thanks  to  our  driver's  interposition  and  the 
magic  of  a  few  pennies,  we  found  willing  sub- 
jects for  our  camera  in  the  person  of  a  father 
and  three  children.  The  Dutch  have  the  same 
spirit  of  barter  that  made  their  forefathers  sell 
gunpowder  to  the  besiegers  outside  their  own 
walls. 

An  occasional  advertising  sign  appears  on 
the  old  windmills.  It  is  the  beginning  of  the 
end.  As  soon  as  the  idea  sinks  in/ that  money 
can  be  made  by  the  process  somebody's  sarsa- 
parilla  will  begin  to  create  that  tired  feeling  in 
the  minds  of  all  lovers  of  the  beautiful  that  it 
is  supposed  to  alleviate. 


Middelburg  to  Rotterdam  251 


XXXI 

From  Middelburg  to  Rotterdam 

HE  name  of  Bergen  op  Zoom  looked 
so  quaint  that  we  concluded  to  stop 
over  a  train.  So  back  we  went  over 
miles  of  Holland  in  the  making,  where  land 
and  water  fight  for  the  mastery,  but  where  the 
land  finally  will  be  wrung  dry  and  hung  up 
on  a  dike,  while  the  baffled  ocean  will  creep 
dripping  back  to  its  bed. 

The  only  thing  in  Bergen  op  Zoom  that  is 
interesting  is  its  name,  and  you  can  read  that 
without  getting  off  the  train.  We  did  not  know- 
that  fact,  however,  and  alighted.  But  if  we 
received  little  amusement,  we  imparted  it  in 
abundance.  It  was  Sunday  and  no  one  had 
anything  else  to  do,  so  the  entire  juvenile  popu- 
lation and  some  adults  fell  in  behind  us  and 
tried  to  figure  out  why  we  were  there.  And 
really  we  could  give  them  no  assistance  in 
solving  the  mystery. 


252  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

Of  course,  there  were  a  kerk  and  a  stadhuis, 
and  we  photographed  them.  Then  we  saw  a 
kitten  and  puppy  lying  side  by  side  in  a  door- 
way. They  would  have  made  a  pretty  picture, 
but  they  were  alarmed  by  our  kodak  and  re- 
treated into  the  shop.  Finding  them  proof 
against  our  cajolery,  we  were  about  to  give 
up  when  the  old  lady  in  charge  of  the  shop 
came  to  our  rescue.  She  poured  some  milk 
into  a  plate  and  put  it  in  a  sunny  place,  and  in 
a  very  brief  space  of  time  both  animals  were 
lapping  it  up  from  opposite  sides  of  the  plate, 
and  we  took  the  picture.  I  offered  the  old  lady 
some  money  for  the  milk,  but  she  smilingly 
refused  it  and,  ascertaining  that  we  had  fin- 
ished, she  drove  the  puppy  and  kitten  away 
from  the  dish  and  poured  the  milk  back  into 
the  can.  It  was  a  splendid  illustration  of  Dutch 
courtesy  and  thrift. 

There  we  were,  marooned  in  a  little  town, 
with  the  sun  beating  down  on  the  shining  walls 
and  clean  clinkers,  and  three  hours  to  wait  for 
the  next  train.  And  now  we  were  truly  glad 
that  Holland  was  no  larger,  for  we  hired  a 
carriage,  loaded  our  luggage  on  it  and  drove 
to  Rosendaal  in  an  hour.  The  road  was  a 


Middelburg  to  Rotterdam  253 

paved  strip  of  stone  blocks  with  a  cycle  path 
of  clinkers  on  each  side  and  shaded  by  trees 
for  the  entire  distance.  We  passed  through 
two  small  villages,  where  we  were  kept  busy 
responding  to  hat  liftings.  We  were  interested 
in  the  many  little  country  places  with  their 
names  or  some  motto  placed  over  the  gates  or 
set  in  flower  beds. 

At  Rosendaal  we  get  a  train  to  Breda,  where 
we  secure  a  royal  suite  at  De  Kroon,  but  we 
can  have  it  for  one  night  only,  as  the  concierge 
says  it  is  "recommended"  for  tomorrow,  and 
seems  elated  over  his  mastery  of  the  word.  A 
one-horse  tram  passes  our  door  and  is  quite 
noisy,  but  one  can  get  plenty  of  sleep  between 
trips. 

Breda  was  the  scene  of  a  happy-go-lucky 
incident  in  the  war  with  Spain.  In  1590, 
Maurice,  son  of  William  of  Orange,  concealed 
some  soldiers  on  a  flat  boat,  covered  them  with 
peat,  and  succeeded  in  passing  the  fortifica- 
tions. Once  inside  the  walls  these  dare-devils, 
with  the  assistance  of  sympathetic  townsmen, 
overcame  the  garrison  and  captured  the  place. 

As  we  had  eaten  at  Rosendaal,  we  walk  up 
to  the  Grand  Place  to  hear  the  band  concert. 


254  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

Seats  and  tables  cover  the  sidewalk  and  most 
of  the  street.  The  band  is  no  better  than  most 
country  bands,  so  we  do  not  stay  long. 

The  most  interesting  relic  in  Breda  has  been 
remodeled  to  the  point  of  extinction.  It  was 
the  old  castle  in  which  William  the  Silent, 
Egmont,  Horn  and  other  Dutch  nobles,  met 
to  prepare  the  compromise  or  petition  to  Philip 
II.  in  1566.  As  Philip  declared  he  had  nothing 
to  arbitrate,  the  trouble  continued.  The  former 
castle  is  now  a  military  school. 

The  hand  of  the  whitewasher  has  been  laid 
heavily  on  the  Protestant  Church.  Still  more 
heroic  methods  were  adopted  by  the  icono- 
clasts, and  many  beheaded  statues  bear  witness 
to  their  mistaken  zeal.  Some  mural  paintings 
recently  have  been  uncovered  and  they  are  in- 
teresting, but  not  much  prettier  than  the  white- 
wash. The  reformers  took  another  poke  at 
the  Catholic  Church  in  making  the  carvings  of 
the  choir  seats.  These  are  caricatures  of 
monks.  It  must  have  done  them  a  world  of 
good  to  slam  a  seat  down  on  a  monk  and  then 
sit  on  it. 

The  monument  to  Count  Engelbert  and  his 
wife  is  a  marvelous  work  in  alabaster.  The 


Midclelburg  to  Rotterdam  255 

bodies  are  sculptured  side  by  side  on  top  of 
the  sarcophagus,  which  is  roofed  by  a  slab  of 
black  marble  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  four 
kneeling  figures,  Caesar,  Regulus,  Hannibal  and 
Philip  of  Macedon.  On  the  top  of  the  black 
marble  lies -the  armor  of  the  count  wonder- 
fully executed  in  alabaster. 

We  reach  the  island  on  which  Dordrecht  is 
located  by  crossing  the  Hollandsch  Diep,  an 
arm  of  the  North  Sea  not  five  hundred  years 
old.  A  one-horse  tram  traverses  the  town 
from  end  to  end.  It  runs  from  the  depot  to 
the  harbor,  over  a  picturesque  old  canal,  lined 
on  both  sides  by  buildings  built  straight  up 
from  the  water. 

The  stadhuis  has  been  restored  and  is  mod- 
ern and  uninteresting.  The  Groote  Kerk  is 
large  and  graceful  in  outline,  and,  wonder  of 
wonders,  it  actually  has  a  hint  of  color  inside. 
The  religious  world  knows  Dordrecht  (or 
Dort)  chiefly  for  its  famous  Synod  of  1618-19, 
so  full  of  interest  to  predestined  sinners  and 
unborn  infants.  The  Calvinists,  headed  by 
Maurice,  won  the  victory. 

The  most  unique  museum  in  the  world  is  the 
South  African  Museum  at  Dordrecht.  It  is 


256  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

filled  with  memorials  of  the  British-Boer  War, 
and  with  personal  relics  of  President  Kruger 
and  General  Cronje.  The  Russians  gave  the 
former  a  beautiful  sword  accompanied  by  the 
signatures  of  seventy  thousand  donors.  These 
signatures,  handsomely  bound  in  several  vol- 
umes, form  an  even  more  impressive  exhibit 
than  the  gift  which  they  accompanied.  There 
are  gold  loving  cups  and  gem-studded  gifts  of 
various  sorts,  but  none  is  so  interesting  as  the 
pipe,  bible  and  old  plug  hat  of  Oom  Paul. 
They  bring  his  stolid  old  figure  right  before 
your  mind's  eye.  The  motto  of  the  republic, 
"Eendract  maakt  magt,"  greets  you  on  every 
hand.  It  means  "Union  makes  strength,"  and 
in  that  atmosphere  of  devoted  loyalty  to  a 
hopeless  cause  one  regrets  that  it  did  not  make 
more  strength. 

One  room  is  devoted  to  articles  manufac- 
tured by  Boer  prisoners  in  the  detention  camps, 
and  hand  bills  are  on  the  walls  giving  the 
appalling  death  statistics  among  the  women 
and  children,  a  form  of  silent  but  effective  ex- 
termination which  is  going  on  to  this  day.  In 
the  court  of  the  museum  is  a  reproduction  of 


Middelburg  to  Rotterdam  257 

a  Boer  farm  house,  life  size,  and  furnished 
throughout.  A  Kaffir  kraal  is  behind  it. 

Dordrecht  has  never  been  battered  by  any 
but  theological  guns,  hence  it  is  full  of  old 
houses.  They  lean  over  in  a  way  that  makes 
you  want  to  hurry  past  before  they  fall. 

A  statue  of  the  artist,  Ary  Scheffers,  adorns 
the  Scheffers  Plein.  He  was  a  native  of  Dord- 
recht, but  passed  most  of  his  life  in  France. 
At  the  age  of  twelve  he  painted  an  historical 
picture  which  attracted  much  attention  in  the 
exhibition  at  Amsterdam.  He  died  at  Paris  in 
1858. 


258  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 


XXXII 
Little  Journeys  Around  Rotterdam 

ND  so  we  ride  into  Rotterdam  five 
days  ahead  of  our  sailing  date  resolved 
to  take  life  easy.  We  stop  at  the  Maas 
Hotel  on  the  bank  of  the  river  of  that  name, 
and  from  our  parlor  window  we  can  see  the 
green,  white  and  green  funnel  of  the  Potsdam 
being  put  in  apple-pie — that  simile  is  too  weak 
— in  Dutch  order  for  our  return  trip. 

The  weather  man  co-operated  with  us  in  our 
resolve  to  stay  in  doors  by  giving  us  an  abun- 
dance of  rain.  Rotterdam  is  like  Naples  in 
that  it  has  little  to  offer  within  itself,  but  makes 
a  splendid  base  for  short  excursions.  Gouda, 
Delft,  The  Hague  and  Scheveningen  are  less 
than  an  hour  away. 

As  soon  as  we  were  fairly  settled  in  our 
hotel  we  went  over  to  the  steamship  company's 
offices  and  found  some  mail  awaiting  us.  On 
our  way  we  saw  something  that  so  completely 


Journeys  Around  Rotterdam         259 

epitomizes  Holland  that  we  must  tell  you  of  it. 
A  freight  train  of  eight  or  ten  cars  was  being 
drawn  along  the  tracks  which  run  parallel  with 
the  Holland-America  docks.  Ten  feet  in  front 
of  the  engine  a  man  walked  slowly  and  sol- 
emnly, ringing  a  big  dinner  bell. 

Still  it  rains.  The  hotel  is  filling  with  tour- 
ists who  have  just  landed,  and  we  are  sorry 
for  them,  but  glad  that  we  were  blessed  with 
such  good  weather.  Statistics  state  that  Hol- 
land only  has  sixty-five  clear  days  a  year,  and 
we  have  had  twenty  bright  ones  out  of  twenty- 
three,  so  some  one  is  in  for  a  soaking.  We  sit 
at  our  window  and  watch  the  rain  and  read 
the  Newport  specials  in  the  Mrs.  Reginald 
Vanderbilt  edition  of  the  New  York  Herald, 
and  recall  some  of  the  oddities  of  the  Hol- 
lander. 

For  example,  his  courtesy  and  economy  lead 
him  to  minimize  distances  when  giving  infor- 
mation in  order  to  save  you  cab  hire  or  car 
fare.  If  you  ask  him  to  assist  you  in  getting 
a  carriage  to  some  point  he  will  say,  "Oh,  a 
carriage  is  not  practical.  It  is  only  two  or 
three  minutes'  walk."  He  gives  you  explicit 
directions  and  starts  you  for  your  destination, 


260  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

which  you  cannot  possibly  reach  in  ten  min- 
utes without  breaking  a  speed  ordinance.  Oc- 
casionally he  will  accompany  you  and  expect 
no  reward  but  your  thanks  and  a  tip  of  the 
hat.  He  will  also  decry  the  attractiveness  of 
a  museum  to  which  the  entrance  fee  is  half  a 
gulden,  not  because  he  loves  art  less,  but  be- 
cause he  loves  twenty  cents  more. 

If  there  is  anything  that  B.  does  funnier 
than  drinking  pop  out  of  a  bottle,  it  is  lighting 
or  extinguishing  a  candle.  Her  early  education 
having  been  too  metropolitan  to  have  acquired 
the  knack  in  youth,  she  quite  often  blows  all 
of  the  small  articles  from  the  mantel  without 
causing  a  waver  of  the  candle  flame.  Recently 
she  had  three  matches  and  a  candle  and  was 
trying  to  light  the  candle.  The  first  two 
matches  were  struck  and  instantly  jabbed  at 
the  unoffending  taper  with  the  natural  result 
that  they  went  out.  I  suggested  that  she  wait 
a  moment  until  the  third  and  last  match  had 
caught  thoroughly.  She  did  so  and  succeeded 
in  warming  the  cold  wick  into  life.  She  stood 
radiant  with  success  before  the  flickering  light, 
triumphantly  ejaculated  "There!"  and,  raising 


Journeys  Around  Rotterdam         261 

the  match  to  her  lips,  blew  out  both  match  and 
candle.    We  undressed  in  the  dark. 

Today  we  will  drive  to  Capelle,  five  miles 
away,  and  see  the  canals  and  cows  at  short 
range.  The  ranges  are  all  short  in  Holland. 
Capelle  appeals  to  us  in  our  present  sated  con- 
dition because  there  is  nothing  to  see  there. 

Our  driver  lost  his  way.    We  drove  for  ten 
miles  or  so  before  we  struck  a  village.    I  said, 
"Isn't  this  Niemverkerk?"  He  said  "Ja,"  and 
at  our  suggestion  turned  his  horse  around  and 
started  in  search  of  Capelle,  which  was  some- 
where between  us  and  Rotterdam.     He  took 
another  road  and  drove  along  the  top  of  a 
grass-covered  dike  for  miles.     There  was  not 
the  mark  of  a  wheel  to  indicate  that  any  one 
had  driven  that  way  for  months.     At  eleven, 
when  we  should  have  been  back  in  Rotterdam, 
a  heavy  rain  came  up,  or  down,  rather.     We 
put  up  the  carriage  top,  unrolled  the  apron  and 
kept  as  dry  as  we  could.     Then,   when  we 
thought  we  were  almost  to  Rotterdam,  we 
reached  Capelle !    By  this  time  we  had  lost  all 
interest  in  that  little  brick  kiln  town.    Our  road 
next  led  us  past  a  ship  building  suburb,  where 
we  drove  through  a  crowd  of  grimy  men  out 


262  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

for  the  noon  hour.  As  most  of  them  carried 
lunch  pails  and  were  on  their  way  home,  the 
inference  is  that  they  go  to  work  early  and 
have  a  meal  between  breakfast  and  noon.  We 
have  seen  road  repairers  knock  off  at  ten  in 
the  morning  and  eat  bread  and  cheese  from 
their  pails.  We  drive  a  little  distance  farther, 
when  a  small  boy  informs  our  coachman  that 
the  end  of  the  street  we  are  following  is  closed, 
so  we  retrace  again.  By  this  time  the  affair 
has  become  funny,  and  we  cease  to  worry  over 
the  outcome,  and  finally  reach  our  hotel  at  half 
past  twelve. 

Our  ride  took  us  past  some  more  villas, 
whose  quaint  mottoes  amused  us.  Some  of 
them  translated  read :  "Without  care" ;  "Peace 
is  best";  "Pleasure  to  build";  "Never  a 
thought" ;  "Satisfied"  ;  "My  parents'  wish." 

In  the  afternoon  we  called  at  a  friend's  office 
in  the  Witte  Huis,  the  sky-scraper  of  Rotter- 
dam, the  tallest  business  building  on  the  conti- 
nent. It  is  ten  stories  high.  There  is  an  ob- 
servatory on  its  roof,  one  hundred  and  thirty 
feet  above  the  side  walk,  and  reckless  people 
pay  ten  cents  to  go  up  there  and  view  the 
country. 


Journeys  Around  Rotterdam         263 

Our  friend  was  out,  and,  although  it  was 
one  o'clock  and  the  office  unlocked,  there  was 
not  a  soul  in  the  room.  All  had  gone  to  the 
mid-day  meal,  leaving  their  books  on  the  desks. 
We  concluded  to  go  to  Gouda  then  and  there. 
We  bought  second-class  round-trip  tickets. 
The  seats  are  not  subdivided,  as  in  first-class 
compartments,  and  the  partitions  do  not  extend 
to  the  top  of  the  car.  Without  luggage  we 
require  little  space.  The  upholstery  is  a  golden 
brown  plush  in  place  of  the  dark  red  to  which 
we  are  accustomed.  Ours  is  a  "verboden  te 
rooken"  (smoking  forbidden)  compartment, 
while  the  adjoining  one  is  reserved  for  ladies 
without  escorts.  As  this  is  Rembrandt's  ter- 
centenary, his  name  is  everywhere.  A  cigar 
is  named  after  him.  This  is  unusual  in  Hol- 
land. As  a  rule  they  do  not  show  their  re- 
spect ( !)  for  great  men  in  that  way.  A  Rem- 
brandt cigar  ought  to  draw  easily. 

The  flood  gates  of  heaven  were  opened  when 
we  reached  Gouda,  so  we  drove  to  the  Groote 
Kerk  and,  being  admitted  to  its  massive  in- 
terior, feasted  our  eyes  on  the  most  magnificent 
stained  glass  windows  in  Holland.  Number 
seven,  the  one  containing  a  likeness  of  Philip 


264  Middelburg  to  Rotterdam 

II.  was  removed  pending  restorations,  so  our 
desire  to  throw  a  brick  through  it  was  baffled. 
Window  twenty-two,  "Christ  Driving  the 
Money  Changers  Out  of  the  Temple,"  was  our 
favorite,  primarily  because  it  was  the  gift  of 
William  the  Silent  and  secondarily  for  its  in- 
trinsic beauty.  The  perspective  and  distance 
effects  are  equal  to  anything  ever  done  on  can- 
vas, while  the  details  are  wrought  out  with 
wonderful  fidelity  down  to  the  doves  in  their 
cages. 

Our  bus  was  waiting  for  us  at  the  church 
door  and  the  rain  was  pouring  down,  so  we 
returned  to  the  depot.  When  we  reached  it 
the  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  we  concluded 
to  stay  over  another  train,  and  went  back  for 
a  snap  shot  of  the  stadhuis.  That  is  the  way 
we  played  tag  with  the  sun  during  most  of  our 
last  five  days  in  Holland. 

There  is  nothing  so  exasperating  as  the  per- 
sistence of  the  Dutch  children  in  their  efforts 
to  get  in  front  of  a  camera.  Their  intentions 
are  not  malicious,  but  they  have  jeopardized 
several  pictures  for  us  that  we  would  not  lose 
for  worlds.  Delft  children  were  a  nuisance, 
but  Gouda  juveniles  are  worse.  Since  unfold- 


Journeys  Around  Rotterdam         265 

ing  our  tripod  we  have  had  a  troop  of  them  at 
our  heels. 

No  one  leaves  Gouda  without  purchasing  a 
tobacco  pipe.  Ours  is  of  clay  twisted  like  a 
French  horn  and  covered  with  black  varnish. 
In  winter  the  natives  of  neighboring  villages 
consider  it  great  sport  to  skate  to  Gouda.  on 
the  canals,  buy  a  pipe  and  return  to  their 
homes,  pipe  in  teeth,  without  having  it  broken. 
Of  course,  every  one  they  meet  tries  to  upset 
them  and  break  the  precious  pipe. 

We  return  to  Rotterdam  and  take  the  trolley 
which  leads  from  the  depot  across  Williams 
Bridge  to  Noordereiland,  a  large  island  in  the 
middle  of  the  Maas,  adjacent  to  the  one  on 
which  are  the  docks  of  the  Holland-America 
line. 

Noordereiland  is  almost  a  mile  long  and 
three  hundred  yards  wide,  built  up  as  com- 
pactly as  the  rest  of  the  city  and  traversed  by 
the  trolley  line  just  mentioned. 

We  sit  at  a  window  on  the  second  floor  of 
the  Cafe  Fritschy  and  watch  the  sun  setting 
over  the  queer  old  roofs.  Then  another  driv- 
ing rain  is  turned  on  and  in  the  midst  of  it  the 
sun  tears  a  big  hole  in  a  cloud  and  shoots 


266  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

through  several  rays  which  are  cooled 
to  a  lurid  red  by  the  vapors  in  which  they  are 
immersed.  With  such  scenic  accompaniments 
we  ate  a  well-cooked  dinner  and  voted  the 
Fritschy  chef  an  artist  in  his  line. 

After  waiting  until  several  cars  had  passed 
us,  each  marked  "Vol,"  we  took  one  going  in 
the  opposite  direction,  paid  four  cents  for  a 
round-trip  ticket  and  circumnavigated  the 
island,  passing  the  same  group  of  patient  peo- 
ple who  were  standing  there  when  we  left. 

We  are  growing  humble  and  obedient  to 
authority.  We  attended  a  vaudeville  last  night, 
and,  when  it  was  three-fourths  over  and 
showed  no  signs  of  improvement,  we  left.  We 
had  carefully  blazed  our  way  from  the  point 
of  disembarking  to  the  theater,  and  had  no 
trouble  in  retracing  our  steps,  with  the  logical 
intent  of  getting  on  the  same  car  at  the  same 
place  and  eventually  landing  near  our  hotel. 
A  car  came  by,  stopped,  some  ladies  alighted, 
and  we  started  to  get  on.  There  was  a  chorus 
of  "Niet,  niet,"  and  we  were  obliged  to  leave 
the  car,  cross  a  narrow  circle  and  get  aboard 
at  the  place  designated  by  the  regulations. 

Our  car  filled  rapidly,  and  when  it  had  pro- 


Journeys  Around  Rotterdam         267 

ceeded  a  few  blocks  it  was  halted  by  a  gentle- 
man who  was  accompanied  by  his  wife  and 
child.  The  conductor  counted  the  vacancies, 
admitted  the  wife  and  child  and  gave  the  start- 
ing signal  after  collecting  their  fare  from  the 
husband,  who  was  left  standing  on  the  curb  to 
wait  for  the  next  car. 

This  morning  we  are  on  a  Delft  launch  (we 
hope)  without  any  tickets,  but  trusting  to  the 
good  fortune  which  has  not  deserted  us  on  the 
entire  trip.  We  almost  missed  the  boat  be- 
cause it  leaves  at  ten,  city  time,  while  my  watch 
is  set  by  railroad  time,  twenty  minutes  slower. 
Fortunately  there  is  a  third  time  quite  preva- 
lent in  Holland,  behind  time,  and  by  grace 
thereof  we  are  sitting  on  deck  waiting  for  the 
boat  to  start. 

There  is  a  bright  sun.  We  are  steaming 
right  through  the  heart  of  Rotterdam.  Pedes- 
trians, house  boats,  bicycles,  scows,  cabs,  ferry 
boats,  trolleys,  tow  boats  and  fishing  smacks, 
form  a  panorama  impossible  outside  of  the 
Netherlands.  We  just  passed  a  house  boat 
whereon  the  good  wife  was  getting  out  the 
week's  washing  while  her  husband  was  on 
deck  doing  some  plain  sewing. 


268  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

"Low  bridge,"  or  its  Dutch  equivalent,  is 
called,  and  flat  we  all  lie  on  the  deck  while 
the  first  mate  hurriedly  folds  our  camp  stools. 
This  last  is  an  unnecessary  touch  of  realism,  as 
the  bridge  would  not  have  touched  them  by  a 
foot.  Out  into  the  open  country  we  glide. 
Clouds  are  gathering.  It  looks  squally,  but  we 
have  every  confidence  in  our  brave  skipper  and 
his  stout  craft.  If  the  worst  happens  we  can 
always  wade  ashore.  There  are  nine  wind- 
mills in  sight.  The  roofs  of  the  farmhouses 
are  on  a  level  with  the  banks  of  the  canal.  We 
pass  many  lumber  yards  and  saw  mills  with 
rafts  of  logs  around  them.  A  motor  boat 
splutters  past  and  spoils  the  picture  for  a  mo- 
ment. The  captain  leaves  the  bridge  to  collect 
the  fares.  We  are  charged  eight  cents  each, 
first  class,  for  the  twelve-mile  ride.  We  could 
have  ridden  more  cheaply,  second  or  third 
class,  but  the  end  of  our  vacation  is  so  near 
that  we  are  extravagant. 

We  let  off  a  passenger  at  a  saw  mill.  Our 
boat  does  not  stop,  but  slows  up  and  he  jumps 
ashore.  We  graze  a  pile  of  lumber  and  upset 
it  into  the  water.  Only  one  board  gets  into 
the  current  and  it  is  harpooned  by  a  small  boy 


Journeys  Around  Rotterdam          269 

and  recovered.  There  are  wind  mills  on  every 
side.  Here  comes  a  boat  with  a  big  brown 
sail,  as  patched  as  a  Dutchman's  breeches.  B. 
snaps  it  right  on  top  of  a  wind  mill  which  she 
took  a  moment  ago,  and  she  says,  "Oh  shoot !" 
and  two  pictures  are  lost.  We  tie  up  at  a 
little  garden  where  refreshments  are  served. 
It  has  been  half  an  hour  since  we  started  and 
there  is  much  hunger  among  the  passengers. 

Off  again,  between  two  streets  of  tiny  one- 
story,  red  tiled  houses,  with  yards  only  three 
feet  wide  but  planted  in  flowers.  Our  threat- 
ened storm  breaks.  All  hands  are  piped  below 
just  as  we  pass  through  a  lock. 

Below  there  is  a  babel  of  tongues.  An  old 
Frenchman  and  his  daughter  lament  the 
weather.  The  skipper  talks  to  his  wife  in 
Dutch.  Some  English  tourists  sit  and  silently 
glare  at  each  other.  Our  canal  is  so  nearly 
level  with  its  banks  that  a  very  slight  inflow 
of  water  would  inundate  the  neighborhood. 
We  have  seven  first  cabin,  twelve  second  cabin, 
and  no  steerage  on  the  boat.  One  of  our  second 
cabin  lands  in  the  rain.  Many  friends  greet 
her.  She  has  traveled.  She  will  regale  her 


270  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

neighbors  for  weeks  with  stories  of  Rotterdam 
and  our  stormy  return  passage. 

The  rain  stopped  at  Delft  long  enough  for 
us  to  get  to  the  railroad  station  and  we  caught 
the  eleven  thirty-three  train  for  The  Hague. 
The  fare  is  eighteen  cents  for  the  round  trip, 
second  class.  The  sun  is  shining  brightly  when 
we  do  not  need  it.  We  could  have  used  a  few 
rays  on  that  canal  trip.  The  weather  is  like 
a  spoiled  child.  If  you  notice  it,  it  tries  to 
show  off.  The  best  way  is  to  ignore  it  alto- 
gether. 

A  steam  tram  takes  us  from  The  Hague 
depot  to  Scheveningen.  Our  route  lies  through 
a  new  addition,  and  there  are  whole  rows  of 
houses  in  various  stages  of  completion.  They 
are  of  cheap  summer-resort  construction,  and 
their  only  redeeming  feature  is  that  they  will 
not  last  long. 

On  the  beach  we  cannot  find  the  custodian 
of  the  bath  chairs,  so  we  just  pre-empt  two 
and  take  it  easy.  The  revenue  from  bathing 
costumes  is  small  today.  It  seems  to  be  the 
usual  thing  to  remove  your  shoes  and  stock- 
ings, put  the  rest  of  your  apparel  at  half  mast 
and  wade  in.  We  watch  the  crowds,  eat  large 


Journeys  Around  Rotterdam         271 

quantities  of  delicious  green  plums  and  big 
black  grapes,  and  then  take  a  farewell  peep  at 
The  Hague  and  doff  our  hats  to  the  statue  of 
William  the  Silent,  returning  to  Delft  in  time 
to  catch  the  return  boat  to  Rotterdam. 

In  order  that  you  may  know  in  advance  a 
fact  that  we  learned  too  late,  let  us  advise 
passengers  arriving  on  the  early-in-the-morn- 
ing  steamers  from  America  to  take  this  little 
boat  ride  just  as  soon  as  they  can  after  getting 
through  the  custom  house.  Boats  leave  Rot- 
terdam at  four  thirty,  seven  and  ten  in  the 
morning,  and  the  trip  makes  an  ideal  introduc- 
tion to  Holland. 

Being  unable  to  find  the  proper  size  of  photo- 
graphic films  in  Rotterdam  we  take  a  shopping 
tour  to  Amsterdam.  The  fare  is  one  dollar 
for  the  round  trip,  and  you  can  accomplish  it 
between  breakfast  and  luncheon. 

Returning  from  Amsterdam,  we  obey  an  im- 
pulse and  get  off  the  train  at  Gouda  in  order 
properly  to  end  our  travels  in  Holland  with  a 
canal  ride.  We  walk  the  length  of  the  town, 
and  it  is  a  long  one,  to  the  Rotterdam  boat. 
This  is  a  very  pretentious  craft,  fifty  feet  long. 
We  travel  first  class  with  the  cheese.  The 


272  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

second-class  passengers  ride  with  the  lumber. 
To  a  Hollander  our  surroundings  are  worth 
the  difference  in  the  price.  We  go  quite 
rapidly,  six  or  eight  knots  an  hour,  and  soon 
pass  a  miniature  West  Point,  where  boy  sol- 
diers are  pole  vaulting  or  shooting  at  targets. 
We  are  again  among  the  farms.  As  usual  the 
land  is  lower  than  the  water.  On  our  right 
is  one  of  the  ornamental  water  towers  that  dot 
all  Holland.  Even  the  lock-keepers'  houses  are 
built  with  an  eye  for  the  beautiful.  The  small 
and  many  colored  bricks  lend  themselves  read- 
ily to  pretty  little  designs  in  wall  and  pavement. 
We  pass  a  number  of  brick  kilns  where  women 
are  working  with  the  men.  A  clock  in  a  village 
steeple  strikes  3  130.  It  does  so  by  striking  one 
more  than  the  preceding  hour.  By  looking  at 
a  clock  which  has  just  struck  four  times  you 
can  tell  whether  it  is  3  130  or  4.  A  stork  fam- 
ily on  a  neighboring  roof  makes  a  pretty  pic- 
ture. Father,  mother  and  two  young  ones  are 
silhouetted  against  the  blue  sky.  I  do  not  see 
how  father  stork  gets  any  time  to  loaf  around 
his  fireside  in  Holland.  We  stop  at  Nieuwer- 
kerk  for  a  minute.  That  is  the  town  we  found 
the  other  day  when  we  were  looking  for 


Journeys  Around  Rotterdam         2/3 

Capelle.  It  is  drowsy  work  riding  on  a  canal. 
One  could  easily  fall  asleep  were  not  the  cap- 
tain such  a  willing  performer  with  his  whistle. 
He  toots  at  everything  he  passes.  We  use  two 
pounds  of  steam  for  whistling  to  every  one  we 
use  for  locomotion. 

Our  last  canal  ride  lands  us  on  the  banks 
of  the  Maas.  We  return  to  the  hotel.  The 
office  is  filled  with  Americans  who  have  flocked 
in  from  everywhere  to  catch  tomorrow's  boat. 
We  order  a  carriage  for  the  next  morning. 
When  it  comes,  that  same  Capelle  driver  is  on 
the  box.  When  asked  if  he  is  as  vague  on  the 
location  of  the  docks  as  of  Capelle,  he  grins 
sheepishly.  We  say  a  sad  farewell  to  our  hotel 
friends  and  cross  over  to  the  island.  We  are 
blocked,  in  company  with  a  long  string  of  other 
carriages,  but  no  one  swears;  no  one  is  in  a 
hurry.  We  almost  wish  that  circumstances 
over  which  we  have  no  control  would  make  us 
miss  the  steamer.  It  is  raining  hard  up  to  the 
moment  that  we  leave.  Except  for  the  return- 
ing tourists,  an  American-bound  liner  carries 
no  holiday  crowd.  The  Hollanders  on  board 
are,  as  a  rule,  homeseekers  and  not  sightseers. 
Until  their  fortunes  are  made  they  will  not  see 


274  Three  Weeks  in  Holland 

the  canals  and  meadows  of  their  kindly  but 
strict  old  fatherland.  The  longshoremen 
march  away  with  the  big  gangplanks  on  wheels 
between  them.  There  is  an  imperceptible  tre- 
mor as  our  ship  wakes  to  life,  we  swing  slowly 
into  midstream,  the  band  plays,  the  handker- 
chiefs wave  and  we  are  off. 

It  would  seem  appropriate  to  close  with  a 
eulogy  of  Holland  and  Belgium,  but  if  our  love 
for  them  has  not  breathed  through  every  line 
written,  the  lack  is  not  in  our  hearts,  but  in 
our  ability  to  express  ourselves.  It  would  be 
ungracious  to  make  invidious  comparisons  be- 
tween two  such  royal  hosts.  Had  we  visited 
but  one  of  the  two  countries  we  would  have 
declared  it  unsurpassable.  Each  has  its  parti- 
sans, as  have  all  good  things.  You  will  meet 
many  champions  of  one  at  the  expense  of  the 
other.  Holland  has  cooler  summers.  Belgium 
has  more  bright  days.  The  Hollander  gives 
you  more  of  the  comforts  of  life,  and  the  Bel- 
gian more  of  its  luxuries.  The  Hollander 
charges  you  more  for  things,  the  Belgian 
charges  you  oftener.  Both  do  the  best  they 
can  to  entertain  you  with  a  seeming  absence 
of  effort  and  a  self-effacement  that  marks  the 


FAREWELL    TO    HOLLAND 


Journeys  Around  Rotterdam         275 

perfect  host.  It  is  not  necessary  to  choose — 
the  countries  are  small.  See  both  of  them,  and 
see  them  thoroughly  by  leaving  the  cities  arift 
plunging  into  the  smaller  towns.  There,  and 
there  alone,  will  you  meet  the  real  people, 
genuine  and  unspoiled. 

The  End 


MISS  MINERVA 
WILLIAM  GREEN  HILL 

By  FRANCES  BOYD  CALHOUN 


€J  Screamingly  ridiculous  situations  are  mingled  with  bits  of 
pathos  in  this  delightfully  humorous  tale  of  the  South. 

<I  Do  you  remember  "Helen's  Babies  ?  and  "Mrs.  Wiggs"? 
Do  you  recall  "Tom  Sawyer"  and  "Huckleberry  Finn"? 

Miss  MINERVA  AND  WILLIAM  GREEN  HILL  is  every  bit  as 

genuine  as  any  of  these. 

<J  It  contains  a  delightful  little  love  story,  but  deals  principally 
with  William  Green  Hill,  a  six-year-old  boy  with  sunny  hair, 
a  cherub's  face,  and  a  wonderful  dialect  acquired  from  the  plan- 
tation negroes  among  whom  he  formerly  lived.  In  the  narration 
of  the  activities  of  Billy  and  his  associates,  Jimmy,  Frances  and 
Lina,  the  author  shows  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  workings 
of  the  juvenile  mind  and  makes  the  pages  sparkle  with  laughs. 

t|  From  start  to  finish  mere  is  no  let-up  in  me  fun.  Any  normally 
constituted  reader  of  the  book  will  soon  be  in  a  whirl  of  laugh- 
ter over  "  Sanctified  Sophy,"  "Uncle  Jimmy-Jawed  Jup'ter," 
"Aunt  Blue-Gum  Tempy's  Peruny  Pearline's  chillens,"  and  the 
other  quaint  characters  of  this  fascinating  book.  Their  hearts 
will  go  out  to  lovable  little  Billy,  and  they  will  be  convulsed 
by  the  quaint  speeches  of  bad  Jimmy,  who  says  to  his  chum  : 
"You  all  time  gotter  get  little  boys  in  trouble.  You  'bout  the 
smart-Alexist  jack-rabbit  they  is." 

Small  12mo.  ;  212  pages ;  bound  in  scarlet 
cloth  cover  attractively  stamped  ;  22  clever 
illustrations  by  Angus  MacDonall.  Price  $1.00. 


A    orvT7!?*"IIJ 
uu  '26  063     7 


